29. Twenty-Nine
twenty-nine
Getting back to the temple proved to be a bit of a hassle. She tiptoed around her rooms in the pitch dark to not alert anyone, dressed in her travel clothes and a cowled cloak, and had to sneak by several guard posts – two of which caught her, and she had to make up a story on the spot about why the queen was creeping around the palace in the middle of the night, dressed like a thief. Neither of them believed her lie that she was an avid bird watcher and sensitive about the topic, but they didn’t dare openly defy her.
As far as rumours went, and Neira had no doubt that surely some would crop up, this felt rather harmless.
She had also missed the ivy-covered gate and had to backtrack, and with only a sliver of a crescent moon as a light source.
The winding road from palace gates to temple was deserted, and despite the eeriness of it she did stop to look out at the bay. Several spots of light winked back at her in the clear night, from either the barrier islets or ships. The harbour was a brighter glow along the shore, Duskport itself never truly sleeping. She couldn’t hear the revelry from so far away, but no doubt that was there the taverns were. Brothels too, she supposed, and all manner of other entertainment.
When she finally found her way back to the temple, the doors were as open as they had been that afternoon. The foyer was empty, quiet, but faintly illuminated – constellations etched into the floor, unnoticed by her that afternoon, where glowing with the same starlight as in the sky. The side corridors, in contrast, were pitch dark. Without an acolyte to lead the way, there was no way she'd find her way to the morgue.
Frustration gnawed at her once more. If she made a ruckus, someone would come, but she couldn't be sure she would be granted the same warm welcome as earlier. Not at this hour, and certainly not without Erqis. He was the one who held everyone in his fist, not her.
Calling to the priestesses or acolytes would also introduce something else unwanted into the situation: the presence of another, and their expectations of her. The reason she had come back by herself, at night, was so she could be truly alone and concentrate on the task at hand.
Neira looked around for any kind of guidance, some sign that would point her down the right path.
Nothing but the foyer, with its statues of Iphila to either side of the long hall, graceful, feminine figures dancing with the eventide. The same starlight gleamed from their carved curls of hair, and far down the hall stood the biggest statue of them all: the goddess cradling the sun to her bare chest.
This was the one Neira approached and, although she had never been a devotee, if it was guidance she needed, she wasn't above asking for it.
An altar sat in front of the big statue, richly decorated with fabrics, pieces of gold and other offerings.
"I have nothing to offer you," she whispered, hoping her voice wouldn't carry. "I didn't know I would ask for your help, but – Iphila, if you are here, I would be honoured if you guided me on my path tonight." She bowed her head, her hands clasped in front of her. "My… husband has had two deceased brought to you, innocents who have come to a violent end. I couldn't save them." Her throat tightened at the admission. Not with nerves, for once, but accompanied by a burning behind her eyes that she recognised as tears.
Neira didn't remember when she had last cried. Not for her father. Not even for Ramin. Certainly never for someone she didn't even know. She sniffed, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes.
"These tears aren't even for them. I think… I think that even now, the only person I am truly mourning is myself, the potential I thought I had." Admitting that out loud shattered something inside of her, something she had never realised was so very fragile. "Perhaps my father was right to pass over me as heir. Perhaps I'm too selfish to be a good queen. It doesn't matter what Erqis says – a good queen would have done something sooner, would have at least tried to saved one of them. I did nothing. This is my failing."
She raised her head, staring up into the statue's serene face. Every line and swell had been carved with exquisite, loving detail, down to the individual lashes resting against the cold, stone cheeks. "If you could help me find my way to them now, I could try to give them justice, at the very least, before you usher their souls into the sunset."
There was no answer. She waited, barely daring to breathe, unmoving, but there was no reply from the goddess. Eventually, Neira rubbed the dampness from her cheeks.
"I understand. I never did anything for you, never even spared you a thought. You have no reason to help me now. But, please, Iphila; if you are here, please make sure their descent is gentle. They deserve that much."
She took a step back, her heel hitting something that clattered across the floor, startlingly loud in the silence. Neira whirled around, her heart in her throat. The constellation beneath her feet was missing a star.
It lay a few feet away: a small, crystal disc glowing with the pale light encased within. It fit precisely into her hand when she picked it up, the glow radiating strong enough to illuminate her way.
Neira blinked at the object she held. Then she craned her neck back, staring up at the statue's face – unchanged, with the same serene smile and closed eyes as Iphila willed the day to sleep in her arms. And yet…
A warm flush washed over her, a lightness settling in her chest, as if something heavy had been taken from her.
"Thank you." Perhaps she had had something to offer the goddess after all, something intangible that had no place on a physical altar. Something that could only be surrendered by a truth whispered into the night.
The disc held in front of her, Neira hurried back towards the entrance on light feet. She vaguely recalled the acolyte leading them through a corridor on the left, but once it branched off she was no longer sure of the way. All she could do was trust her gut – which proved to be useless with directions. She found herself standing in front of a locked door or a dead end not once, not twice, but three times total before she eventually found the morgue. It was even eerier now than it had been, and Neira tiptoed into the room and slowly turned in a circle. Somewhere far behind her, a sound echoed through the temple, like a shoe scuffing on the ground.
Neira froze. She closed her eyes, strained her ears. She even barely dared to breathe, her heartbeat loud in her ears, but – nothing.
"Must've imagined it," she murmured to herself, nodding, like she could convince herself of her own words. Imagination, or an acolyte going about their night time business, whatever that may be.
She set the glowing disc down on the edge of the slab she had spent so much time at already today, and carefully tugged the sheet down. The pale light made dark shadows flicker on the girl's face as if they were alive, tricking Neira's eyes into seeing expressions and movements that weren't there at all.
"All right, let's try this again."
Neira almost scoffed at herself for talking to herself like a lunatic. But the truth was that even with the goddess' intervention – if that had been a goddess' hand at all and not just clever coincidence – the temple felt a lot like how she would imagine a tomb.
Much like home, really, if she thought about it.
"I grew up in a place like this, you know," she told the dead girl, gently running her fingertips down the cold cheek. "It was just as cold and lonely. Just as devoid of colour. I didn't know that then, of course, I knew nothing else, but… I've seen so much more now. I hope your life in the sun was pleasant, I truly do, and that you will find comfort in Iphila’s embrace. But I need one last thing of you before you go. I need to speak to you."
Gentle, pale green ribbons of mist slowly twined around Neira's fingers, almost invisible at first until she focused on them. She lifted her hand and the ghostly tendrils followed, fraying a little at the edges but never dissipating.
"Is that it?" Talking herself through it was easier when there were no eyes on her. "See what can be achieved when men stay far away? I could have spared myself this trip entirely if he hadn’t spent the whole afternoon being bothersome."
A mist seemed to seep through her pores before solidifying into those twisting tendrils. Neira followed the feel of it back to its origin as best she could. Connection, that was what Erqis had said Qavor explained it as. She could feel it now, a steady flow of… something , trickling down through her arm, following the line of her shoulder, and springing from a well beneath her clavicles.
It was almost the same spot her nerves targeted whenever she felt anxious, but instead of a tight, ghostly hand banding around her throat, it felt more like a cup beginning to spill over.
"Curious." Neira turned her hand back and forth in front of her eyes, watching how the misty ribbons drifted along with the movement. She raised the other hand and imagined, in her mind's eye, diverting the stream to send it down both arms.
The same tendrils began to loop around her left hand.
"Yes!" It was a surge of euphoric joy so strong it almost made her light-headed. With both wreathed hands, she cupped the girl's cold face and reached for that spark again – it was smaller now, further away, but now she could reach for it. The tendrils spun around it like a cocoon, dragging it back; the spark struggled, a firefly caught in a spider’s web, but with a final decisive yank Neira pulled the spark back into the motionless body.
When she blinked, the blurry room coming back into focus, the girl was looking right at her. Her still expression had been traded for quiet awe, unwavering attention. The same pinprick of green that glowed in Strings' eyes was there in the young woman's.
"I did it," Neira whispered, a broad grin splitting her face. "I really – oh, thank you, thank you ." Whether she meant the goddess, the girl, her father, the magic itself – she didn't know. "Tell me who attacked you."
Obediently, the young servant inhaled deeply, then opened her mouth. No sound came aside from a soft hiss of air that streamed right through her ravaged throat. Whether it had been the murderer's intention or not, no words could ever spill past those lips again. Neira’s magic could do nothing to mend the torn flesh and sinew.
Disappointed, Neira let her hands drop from the cold face and touched the girl’s forehead. She felt the young woman's spark, her essence, but there were no thoughts, nothing beyond a basic consciousness.
Her father had had the entire court under his control, fuelling them with his magic, this magic, and every single person had felt like an actual person – with thoughts and schemes and emotions and decisions.
What she had achieved here was nothing like that.
I'm sorry for disturbing your rest," Neira sighed, rubbing her palms together. "Let's try to send you back." The young woman's eyes widened. "Don't be scared," Neira soothed. “Iphila-” and then she realised that it wasn’t her the girl was looking at.
Neira began to turn, but a hard shove sent her stumbling along the length of the slab.
Something big had moved between herself and the crystal disc. Someone tall, with broad shoulders, their head covered by a cowl not unlike Neira's own. They swung, a blade glinting in the dim light, and Neira somehow managed to twist out of the way, the blade burying in the flesh of the reanimated girl rather than her own. Neira met the girl's wide eyes. There was no pain there, but rather a panic that matched her own – that was her own.
They were still connected.
Neira threw herself around and bolted.
A deep, blood-curdling roar rose behind her, echoing from of the morgue and following her down the pitch-black corridor. It was animalistic fury, morphed into cruel delight at the prospect of a chase.
Without the disc to light her way, Neira saw nothing. She held her hands in front of herself to avoid running head-first into a wall, scrambled up the stone stairs on her hands and feet in the pitch black. Her breath sawed in and out, her frantic footsteps slapping against the smooth stone floor so loudly they echoed, until she couldn't tell how many sets of footsteps she was hearing, or which were her own.
Her hands slammed into another wall, grappled along the cool stone, her wrists aching from countless blind collisions. Erqis' dagger slapped against her hip with every step she took, but without being able to see, it was no use.
Her fingers found a corner and she froze there like a frightened hare, tried to rein in her panting, tried to listen for a sound that was not of her making.
Nothing.
Her blood rushed in her ears, making her dizzy.
Nothing.
Gods, it hurt, the pressure expanding in her chest, her heart beating fast as a hummingbird's wings.
Nothing .
Her lungs burned, urging her to suck in a greedy breath of air to replenish them, but she wouldn't. A breath too loud would give her position away-
A low, throaty chuckle reverberated up the hall, accompanied with the thin rasp of a blade dragging against stone.
" I see you ."
Terror; true, lethal terror locked her knees, an all-encompassing thing that wiped away her existence until it was all she was. Her fingers closed around the jewelled hilt of Erqis’ dagger, freed it with jerky motions.
If she ran now, if whoever, whatever this was could really see her – no, she told herself. It didn't matter if they could see her or not. She couldn’t stay here.
Dagger in hand, Neira burst into another run, hoping Iphila would grant her the grace of not running head-first into another wall. Now she could truly hear the second pair of feet, gaining on her, a much longer stride than hers – Light! Around the next corner was the thin light of the foyer, reaching for her. Just a few more steps–
The wind was knocked out of her when something hard slammed against her back. The impact knocked the dagger from her hand and Neira scrabbled along the floor on her hands and knees, trying to find it in the shadows.
She should have screamed when she’d had the air for it, she realised, when hands closed around her ankles. She kicked wildly, twisting onto her back as she was dragged deeper into the shadows. If she was going to die tonight, she would etch the bastard's face into her memory so deep that when Erqis found a way to bring her back – because he would, she knew it, no matter how forbidden – her spirit would still know her attacker’s face.
Only there was no face. It was too dark, the cowl too deep, and when she raked her nails through where the face surely should be, she found nothing. But it was a man's body, she was sure of that only by how tall and broad-shouldered the figure was. And in what dim specks of light there were here, she could see how big his crude dagger was, partly serrated, and now held above her chest with both hands.
The well within her burst open.
Where her lungs had been stifled, where her chest had tightened, now there was only raw power, a heady, cold rush that wreathed her arms in bright mist.
The dagger came down with lethal force.
Three things happened, then, at almost the exact same time: her tendrils, shrill in their sudden brightness, wrapped like restraints around the attacker’s forearms. The cloaked, hulking figure screeched like a frightened pig as it was thrown back, off of her and down the dark corridor.
And a foot and a half above her, her name rolled down the side corridor on wings of flame.