51. Mare
Mare
When I'd promised to aid my mother's cause, her first order had sent my heart plummeting into my feet.
Curling my toes, I gazed into the silvery water pooling in the stacked-stone basin, its wave oddly viscous. Quinn rolled up his sleeves and joined my side.
"This." He gestured to the water. "Is symbolic to the people who live south of the wall. I won't go into the details if you don't care for history."
"No, please," Liam said sarcastically, limping to my other side. "I'm oh so curious."
"It's a touching fable about unity." Quinn frowned. "Point is, Ethna likes to do it here."
"I would like to know," I said, lifting my eyes.
"The people here worship spirits. Everything represents, well, two things." He knelt and ran a finger through the silver water. "Water is memory. Our lives become one with the rain when we die."
Liam bit his lip and looked away. His eyes flicked up to the sky briefly—a sky where no stars ever shone.
He still hadn't told me what his catalyst meant. But at least now I understand why mentions of death upset him.
"Ready?" Quinn rose and extended his hand.
Taking a shaky breath, I placed my palm in his.
"You need to want me to see you," he breathed. "As much as I want you to see me."
"See, there's the problem." I flicked him a smile. "I don't much want you to see me."
"Heh. It's only a little bit. I don't want to share my life with you either. Just the past few days."
I could manage that. Swallowing, I stared into Quinn's yellow eyes.
My resolve had not wavered. If my mother could turn our home into a place where Liam could live without fear, where women could be made Paragons without protest, where little girls did not grow up in brothels . . .
Then I could stomach sharing a rethaite with Quinn.
I laid my hand atop his and closed my eyes.
Memories assaulted my senses, though they weren't mine. A lantern cleaving through the darkness, silhouettes seen through fog. A shardwolf begging for scraps at my table, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Rich purple wine flowing into a cup, my trembling hand picking it up.
Sitting by Liam's bedside, checking his wound. Cursing myself for not being as talented at healing as Reese.
Reese, Reese, Reese. The name rang around in my head, and new memories surged to the forefront.
A redheaded kid with a crooked smile. Laughing in pools of our own blood in a back alley, because at least we were alive. Sparring in an empty field, watching the rage on Reese's face grow into something more sinister.
Bodies around me, torn to shreds. A pool of blood around my feet. His hands around my throat.
We snapped apart—but it wasn't me who broke the connection. Quinn nursed the hand I'd been holding, like he'd been struck.
"That's enough," he panted. "I trust you."
My own memories of the past few days lingered, fresh.
"Your turn." Quinn extended his hand to Liam.
My brother glanced at me, and I nodded. Sighing with exaggerated distress, Liam took Quinn's hand.
Both their eyes snapped shut, but their irises darted around beneath their lids, watching the memories beneath.
They broke apart in an instant. "Well," Quinn breathed. "You don't want to have anything to do with us, but at least I can be sure you won't spill our secrets."
"I hate everyone." Liam shook his hand. "Equally."
"I don't blame you." Quinn tilted his head. "Come along. Ethna will want to see you."
Relieved, I touched Liam's arm and followed Quinn down the walkway toward my mother's manor. The Tirnanog soldier stationed at the door greeted us with an Aenir salute: two fingers pressed to his chest and flicked outward.
"They've just begun," he said, pushing the door open.
"So impatient," Quinn murmured. "She couldn't wait?"
Voices drifted from down the dim hall, coming from the parlor.
My mother leaned over a table, a lantern resting beside her splayed fingers.
I’d been introduced to the other man in the room—the one my mother had been arguing with the day I'd arrived. He was Iceborn, with cold eyes and neat, dark hair. But he wore the uniform of Tirnanog’s generals: a deep purple surcoat with ornate silver armor patterned with our tree.
General Iosef, commander of Tirnanog's soldiers. Father had mentioned him a few times.
Bláth leaned on the far wall, tucked into the shadows. She offered me a faint smile.
"You're here. Good." Lady Ethna stabbed a knife into the map, through the heart of Fort Galasvar. “We have a foothold here.” She gestured across southern Muirashi. “But pressing forward will be difficult now that the Empire knows our secrets.”
Quinn leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Scádes are precious. We can’t afford to lose them.”
“No, we can’t,” Ethna agreed, studying the map of Forlaith.
Iosef glared at me, silent. Accusing.
And as much as I wanted to refute him, I could not.
Their offense had failed, in no small part because of me.
“We need aid.” Iosef turned from me to my mother. “The offensive must be paused until we have more allies.”
“Allies?” I folded my arms. “Who are you thinking of, exactly?”
“Thanas.” Ethna stood. “Land of the dead. The place your brother hails from, I believe.”
Liam flinched, moving from the corner of the room to my side. He folded his arms tightly, avoiding my gaze.
"You were born beyond the wall?" I asked.
"I don't know." Liam shrugged. "I have a few memories of the place, but . . . "
"I thought your mother—”
“Was the Witch of Aenir?” Ethna interrupted. “She is. Lachesis is from Thanas. She was exiled and fled here. Eventually, she traveled north, into Aenir.”
Nodding, I studied the map, finding Thanas far to the south, pressed against the sea. Much of Ceortha was uncharted, unknown even to those who lived here.
“Why is it called the land of the dead?” I looked up.
Quinn rubbed his neck. “They worship a goddess of death. Celebrate death. They’re not the kind of people I’d want as allies.”
“You judge too harshly,” General Iosef chided. “They stand to lose as much as we do, should Forlaith attack.”
"Is she real?" Liam asked, voice tight. "This goddess?"
"The Lady of Sighs?" Quinn voiced her title with obvious disbelief. "I doubt it."
Liam swallowed, but said nothing.
Running a hand along the table, I approached the general. “Bláth mentioned Forlaith’s Emperor was planning an invasion. You killed him. So tell me. What exactly is the goal of your little war?”
“To overthrow Forlaith.” Iosef’s icy eyes followed me. “To free this land from the tyranny of the Solhearts.”
“By killing Muirashins?”
“Forlaith is buried in the heart of four nations; it controls them with an iron fist. We cannot assault the seat of the Empire without first gaining ground. We struggled to recruit in Muirashi—it was the best option: the fewest allies, the most enemies.”
My lips curled into a snarl. Quinn stepped into my path, blocking me from Iosef. “You’ve already voiced your discontent, Lady Rohan. If you want to join, you'd best remember you rank below everyone in this room."
Biting my lip, I swallowed my hatred and stepped back. “Answer me something. Why am I cursed by shadows?"
"I do not know," Ethna admitted. "Even here, in Ceortha, people cannot wield the shadows. You were born with striking, unmistakable eyes. Years later, when I perused Aeourant's library, I found a record of the Diaths—of one whose eyes matched yours."
"Even this place has forgotten, then?"
"The wall was not always there to divide our peoples. Forlaith's tendrils once reached all the way to Thanas."
"And they can again," Iosef rumbled, eyeing me sharply. "If we do not stop them."
"But, Mare?" Ethna said softly. "I do not think it is a curse."
I bit my tongue, lest I say something I would later regret. "Perhaps it's not. What’s next, then?”
“We wait,” Ethna breathed. “We hoped for Tsuyan—it would be a formidable stronghold. Now, we gauge how the empire will react, to see if they will risk taking back their forts while monsters swarm their streets.” Her eyes fell to Cierthine, on my hip.
“Whatever follows, Paragons will be at the center of it. They always are. If you manage to claim your title, you will have access to King Ailithir. To the Empire.”
“You want me to be a spy.”
“To put it simply. Yes.”
‘I’m not a spy,’ I wanted to say. Throughout my life, I’d worn countless masks, spun lies, and worn insincere smiles.
I’d always been pretending to be someone I was not.
“Alright.” I laid my palms on the table. “What do you want me to do?”
“Precisely what you already were,” Ethna said. “Secure the Paragon’s crown. Win your king’s approval. You’re of little use to us until then.”
Her words stung. They shouldn’t have. Every word had been true.
“Once you’ve managed that, I’ll give you a proper assignment.” Ethna sighed deeply and shot a glare at her general. “By then, I'll have sorted out this mess.”
According to Quinn, Ethna had been resistant to starting a full-scale war. But after her general went behind her back, she had not tried to stop it, either.
Quinn cleared his throat. “There’s one problem. Reese isn’t an idiot—there isn’t a lie we could spin he would believe. The moment Mare returns? He’s going to start putting the pieces together.”
A footstep sounded on the floorboards behind me. I spun, startled. Bláth had been so quiet, I’d forgotten she was here.
“I have an idea,” she said, wearing a thin smile.
“This is a terrible idea,” Brighid snapped. “Fae are not to be taken lightly—whatever boon they give you, the price they take will be so much worse.”
Knitting my fingers, I stared up at the little violet tree planted outside Ethna’s manor. It was like a tiny piece of home to the natives of Tirnanog who would never see their city again.
Unless I helped them tear down the Empire.
“What choice do we have?” Bláth paced the walkways circling the tree. “We ran past the wall, and have been gone for days.”
Brighid pressed her fingers into her eyes. “Let me think.”