CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I kept heeding the woman’s advice, and it was working. I was learning how to let the fire out, and each time it got easier. With time, maybe I’d feel safe enough to sleep at an inn again. Maybe I could stop fearing myself.
The woman moved through her garden barefoot, the hem of her dress trailing through the grass.
When she crouched by a patch of tangled stems, I saw a curved blade flash in her hand.
She snipped a single flower, its petals a pale blue, like moonlight.
She carried it back to the blackened kettle hanging over glowing coals and, without a word, dropped the bloom into the simmering water.
I wasn’t sure where Will and Aran had gone. They were somewhere in the garden still, giving me a moment alone with the woman. Aran had been so thrilled to go back there, and I think even Will was starting to see that it was helping. Or maybe he was just waiting to see if I’d levitate again.
“This will help with focus,” the woman said.
The steam smelled sweet, but strange. Something between honey and liquor.
She poured the tea into two cups and set them on the table between us.
The brew wasn’t dark like the last. It had a faint blue hue to it, and maybe it was weird that I trusted her, that I drank what she served for me.
But the one she’d given me before had done something.
It had made it easier to feel, almost as if it dug up everything I’d buried and dragged it to the surface. I don’t know why she needed it though.
”You drink it too?” I asked.
She didn’t look at me, just blew gently across the surface of her cup.
“You’re not the only one who needs clarity,” she said.
I wrapped my hands around the cup and the warmth soaked into my skin as I took a cautious sip. It tasted like grass, with a bitter bite beneath it. I was still wondering about what the woman had really seen. What her visions had shown her. What they hadn’t.
“Your advice helped,” I murmured, bringing the cup back to my lips. “I did it.”
“Did what?”
I hesitated, my fingers curling tighter around the cup. I’d thought she’d already know. Maybe she didn’t see everything. Just… flashes. Moments.
“I controlled the fire,” I replied. “Burned a flower. And a tree.”
Her lips twitched, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner.
“Was it intentional?” she asked, her eyes still on her tea.
I scoffed. “Aran pissed me off.”
She set her cup down with a soft clink and lifted a brow. “So… it wasn’t, then.”
I shook my head, watching the steam curl between us.
“But it worked.”
She glanced at me, her tone curious. “And control?”
“Barely,” I admitted. My shoulders sank as I let the truth out with a sigh. “It felt… wild. Like I could barely hold it back.”
”Why are you holding it back?” she asked.
I looked up slowly, meeting her gaze. There was blue in her eyes, and green too, but the colors were so pale, so translucent, they looked almost clear. Like frost melting in the sun.
”I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it,” I said. ”Do you know? What did you see when you touched me? Was it really a dream? Did the gods speak to you?”
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes never leaving mine.
“I’m a seer,” she said gently. “Sometimes I dream. Other times the gods whisper while I’m still awake. And sometimes… the visions burn into my eyes like sunlight.”
She reached for my hand, fingers warm and steady.
“When I touched you that day,” she murmured, “they called to me. Told me to guide you. To teach you.”
She said it like it was nothing. Like carrying visions wasn’t a burden. It reminded me of something Licia once said, all those years ago, when she was still trying to put words to her secret.
When I get a vision, it just shows up, and then I can’t stop thinking about it. What it means.
“Did you understand what they meant?” I asked the woman. “The things you saw?”
Her eyes drifted toward the garden. “I never know. I only try to please the gods, but sometimes I must refuse them.”
“I had a friend like you once,” I said. “She used to get visions too.”
“What happened to her?”
“She disappeared,” I managed. “One night. No warning. We never saw her again.”
“Nothing truly disappears, dear,” she said gently. “I could help you find her.”
My heart skipped.
Find Licia? I’d never even considered it an option. The world was bigger than I could imagine and she could have been anywhere in it. Even hearing the possibility of finding her felt like tearing open an old wound. Hope and dread tore at each other in my chest.
I didn’t answer, but the woman stood and gestured for me to follow.
We stepped inside the cottage and the door creaked shut behind us, slow and heavy like the lid of a coffin.
The room was drenched in scent and shadow.
Velvet tapestries hung along the walls, deep violet, midnight blue, and blood red, stitched with symbols I didn’t recognize.
Black candles burned in crooked holders, their wax bleeding down onto shelves cluttered with jars, and dried herbs.
Animal skulls lined the beams above us, some small and delicate, others large and cracked.
A shrine stood in one corner of the room, pulsing with energy, crystals arranged in strange formations, bones stacked in precise spirals as coils of smoke curled into the air.
The seer crossed the room without a word and sat at a round wooden table in the center. She didn’t speak. Just raised one hand and gestured to the seat across from her. The floor groaned under my weight, each step a protest, like the house itself didn’t want me there.
As I reached the table, she lifted a mask and placed it over her face. Deep crimson. Lacquered like old blood, the mask shimmered in the candlelight, casting shadows across the walls that moved even when she didn’t.
Her eyes disappeared behind it. But I still felt them.
Then she reached for a deck of cards resting on a cloth the color of ashes, embroidered in silver thread that shimmered like spiderwebs.
Her fingers moved without hesitation. No pause.
No doubt. She drew three cards and set them down in a line, face-down.
Then she opened a small box, inside, black candles waited.
She placed them one by one around the cards.
Her voice came soft from behind the mask.
“Light one candle for each card you wish revealed.”
I blinked. My pulse had started to crawl up my throat. “You want me to light them?”
She didn’t nod. “Yes. It must be you.”
The first match snapped uselessly, but the second flared to life, trembling between my fingers as the scent of sulfur rose.
I held my breath and leaned in, lighting the candle to the left.
A small, flickering flame. Soft. Fragile.
But the second it caught, the room felt different.
Tighter. Like the walls had drawn in just a little closer.
She turned over the first card.
It pictured a dagger. Ornate. Sharp. Red droplets falling from the blade like drops of paint.
“I see great pain in your past,” the seer murmured. “Pain that cut deep. Pain you carry still.” I didn’t respond. “And greater pain in your future.”
My heart sank. I don’t know what I’d expected. Maybe not a quiet, painless life, but hearing it from her, from someone who hadn’t lied so far, stung.
I wanted to scream. At her. At the gods. At someone.
Give me a break. Let me breathe. Let me heal.
But no.
More pain.
Great.
I picked up another match with shaking fingers. Struck it. Lit the second candle. The wick hissed, then bloomed into flame.
She turned the next card.
Two doves. One white. One black. They faced each other, beaks just touching, wings spread wide like they were caught mid-motion, about to fight, or about to embrace. It was hard to tell.
“Pain, but also love,” the seer continued.
Another match. Another flame.
She turned the third card.
A cage.
Dark iron, crooked bars. Bent inward, not outward. Like whatever was inside had given up trying to escape.
The air shifted again. It was subtle at first, a pressure building in my temple, pressing behind my eyes. The candlelight seemed too bright. The shadows too thick. My pulse quickened, the sound of it loud in my ears. The seer’s voice dropped, almost swallowed by the silence.
“I see one who is struck. A friend. She’s waiting for you.”
I stared at the card, at the cage. “A friend?”
She nodded once. “She’s been waiting a long time.”
The blood in my body slowed. I could feel it. Like it had turned to syrup. There was only one person it could be. I grabbed the card and stared at it. Licia, was trapped?
“Can you see her?” I whispered.
“No. But I can feel her. She’s like me.”
My stomach flipped. “Like you…?”
“A seer.”
“Licia?” I said. Her name felt like foreign in my mouth. Like I’d forgotten how to say it.
“She’s been dreaming about you for years.” The mask didn’t shift.
“She’s been—how—?” The words came in pieces. “About me?”
“If you want to know your purpose,” the seer said, “she will know.”
“How do I find her?”
The seer’s hand jerked so suddenly I flinched, and her shoulders stiffened. Her lips twitched.
Then she spoke, but not to me.
“No,” she snapped. “Shut it. Show me the girl. I don’t want to hear it—show me the girl.
” It was like she was arguing with someone inside her own mind.
I mean I could do that to sometimes, argue with my own thoughts, but not out loud.
Her hands clenched the edge of the table, knuckles white, trembling.
“Kera,” she said, voice urgent. “Get me the bowl on the right shelf, the one with the dried petals.”
I pushed to my feet, stumbling slightly as I crossed the room. The shelf was cluttered, jars filled with teeth and salt and curled things I didn’t want to name, bones tied in thread, shards of colored glass. There were so many things, but finally I saw it.
A wide clay bowl, shallow, filled with vibrant petals curled in on themselves. Some were browned at the edges. Fragile. Almost powder.