Chapter Forty Five #2
“How does it feel knowing that you are the one for whom the sirens risked everything?” he asked with a morbid drawl.
It was not difficult to act intimidated, because he’d hit a mark.
Her aunts lived small for centuries, citing Mila as the reason.
Onskar had being clever and diabolical down to excruciating detail.
After a pause, she said, “Strange,” as if admitting a great secret.
“You understand what we are, of course?” His conversational tone, laced with a hint of a smile heightened his horrible affect. “Equals.” His eyes flickered to her bare feet when he added, “In a manner of speaking.”
His vile smile as he strode away, fully giving her his back, made her want to rake her nails down his spine. Onskar spoke as he strode toward a reliquary, each step a crisp staccato.
“You see, Mila, there are very few true children of the arcane in history. It’s difficult, at best, to bring wyverns and sirens together without outright destruction and mayhem.
Forming another life between them is another matter entirely.
We are those whose souls cannot be unbraided from the arcane so readily. ”
“Is that our definition?”
“Hmm . . . of a sort.” A sense of impatience carried him to the next topic. “You have inspired much curiosity in me, daughter of Vassi and Draven. Many thousands of years have passed since I had a sibling. That one, I destroyed.” He sent her a sidelong glance. “Rather, magic did.”
He reached an outstretched arm, touched the edge of a glass jar. If she attempted the same, would the arcane reject her? Did their status of equals extend to all parts? Her curiosity mirrored Onskar’s.
“Are we siblings?” she asked. Her query managed to sound childlike, innocent instead of disgusted.
He half-turned and drawled, “You know, I don’t know. It’s a question that I’ve contemplated more than might be prudent. We may have different mothers and fathers, but we are, nonetheless, siblings in rarity. In the arcane. What else matters, if not the arcane?”
She immediately retorted, “Many things.”
Onskar barked a laugh. “Says you who has lived so little. I bet you still sleep at night, don’t you?”
The derisive remark hit home, and she let him see her wriggle. Chuckling, he removed his hand from the shelf and studied her more fully. The reliquary dimmed as he put space between them.
“Tell me, Mila. Since you’re so young and pathetic, what can you do? What arcane abilities did life grant you? All children of the arcane have mighty connections and abilities. They’re part of our charm and endowment.”
She shrugged with one shoulder, eyes downcast as she fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve.
“Not much.”
“Oh?”
A touch defensively, she added, “We’ve had a hard time figuring out my arcane abilities.”
“It’s not that hard.”
“For you,” she said with an impressively weak assertion. Mila tucked her chin to her chest, arms pressed against her sides. “Not all of us have unfettered access.”
He took that in.
“Vassi has never been less impressive before this moment. She gave you nothing worthy. If she didn’t unravel the mystery of your arcane, did she educate you on your own history?”
“No.”
“A shame. No, a pity, but not for me. There’s so much more about yourself than you’ll ever know.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or do you?”
Swallowing, she whispered, “I think you already know the answer.”
“Vassi raised an ignoramus, indeed. I can’t smell deceit, only the truth, which is a grand disappointment. Allow me to help increase your understanding, shall I?”
She meekly nodded.
He sniffed, considered, and continued.
“I am the Seat of the Arcane, though we divide some power. Blah, blah, blah.” He made an open-and-close motion with his hands, eyes rolling.
“I’ve little doubt Draven explained this.
” With a wrinkled nose, he added as an aside, “You smell like his foul stench.” Shuddering, he continued.
“I have ruled for thousands of years, and I am not the first Arcanist of Souls. Surely, you knew that.”
Mila skirted as close to the truth as she could.
“Mother and Stulla never said it outright, but I drew conclusions.”
“Then you make wise assumptions. It’s astonishing that I still smell the truth on you. At every turn, I anticipate deception and sense none. Let’s try again. How hard have you tried to access your abilities?”
“Endlessly.”
“Who taught you?”
“All of them, even Draven.”
Trailing shadows clung to his shoulders like the arms of weepy women as he paced back and forth. He sniffed constantly, his tension ratcheting higher with every truth she released.
“Correct again,” he muttered. “No deception, and it fits what your aunts and Vassi revealed to me from their anchored captivity in the sea. What your soul will not freely reveal, your aunts have.”
The comment stole her breath.
What your soul will not freely reveal, your aunts have.
He couldn’t read her soul. She clutched the cast-off fact like the most valuable pearl. Oblivious to her surprise, Onskar continued to speak.
“You almost make me regret getting rid of you, Mila. You’re . . . exquisite in your na?veté.”
Mention of her aunts stirred a deep well of guilt and fright. She let it expand, amplifying until she smelled the vinegary depths of guilt herself.
Grinning, Onskar drawled, “Oh, I do love a little fear and guilt mixed together, you wicked being who brought about their current state. They’re very sleepy in their momentary retirement, I’ll have you know.
Being such failures comes with hard work, which makes it only too easy to read their souls. ”
The violation made her skin crawl. Did Onskar invade souls intentionally? Did the soul know that he peered inside, flaying it open like a gutted fish? Or was it quietly wrought, a crime never seen, that one might not even know?
“I’m only surprised Stinna’s soul didn’t scorch you,” she retorted, unable to stop herself. The acrid wave of bitterness that surged into the air assisted her point.
Hooting, he cried, “Under different circumstances, Mila, I think we could be friends. Granted, I understand what Pedr sees in you.” Onskar’s eyes gleamed. “You are witty. Worthless, but witty.”