Chapter 15
The next day I found myself . . . lost.
I numbly walked through the castle, learning its quirks and facets and forgetting them just as quickly.
I went to the infirmary, but it lay empty even of its physician—no one here needed my magic.
I wandered into the sunlit bailey, searching faces, recognizing none save for Beatty—dear Beatty—the cook from Rove Castle, who had made it out and joined the army as chef.
She needed no help in the kitchen. The stable hands had no riders going out or coming in. The maids had already hung the laundry.
There was simply no place for me here.
I looped the bailey, my hand tracing the inside of its wall, the only thing tethering me to the present. Staff and soldiers moved about, and yet I felt set apart from them, a ghost in their wake, unseen and unheard. I strained for Ursa’s reassurances and found only silence.
My fourth time around the bailey, the yeasty scent of lunch in the air, I saw Renn. It was impossible not to notice him. He had always stood apart, even before . . .
Sten walked faithfully behind him, Princess Azra strolling at his side, tailed by her own guard.
The princess laughed at something Renn said, looking up at him like he was a god.
I supposed he was, in a way. His hand grazed her midback as he directed her, pointing toward something out of my sight.
A tour, perhaps. Exploring a castle that very likely would be hers soon enough.
My eyes lingered on his touch against her tightly laced bodice.
It cracked the numbness, and I mourned the loss of it. Turned and retreated into the keep.
The time had come for me to go home.
None of my siblings knew what had become of me. I’d visited home for a few days, set things in order, and then left again. Word of Rove being sacked would have reached them. Lissel, Dan, Colt, Heath, Pren, Terrence . . . they might very well have believed me dead all this time.
I . . . wouldn’t tell them about Rodsfell.
I wouldn’t burden them with that. But I’d once promised them, after receiving my healer’s conscription, that I would return to them as soon as I was able.
I needed to uphold that promise. Lissel .
. . she couldn’t do it all on her own forever.
And I no longer had a reason to stay away.
I needed my family. I needed Lissel’s humming and Terrence’s body curled by mine as I thumbed through a book. I needed my bees and my garden and my parents’ roof overhead. I needed Ursa, and perhaps I’d find some trace of her there.
Eden had told me it was too hard to send messengers so far inland to deliver mail; I doubted any soldiers or traveling companions could be spared to escort me. But it didn’t matter. I’d crossed the whole of Sesta on my own two feet, the last third alone. I could cross Cansere just as well.
I couldn’t stay here. Even if I were to feel Renn in my half-heart for the rest of our lifetimes, I couldn’t stay here and watch . . .
Thanks to Nicosia, I had very little to my name, only what had been given to me on the ship. Two dresses, one in terrible repair. My mother’s knife, kept safe all these months.
I rubbed my chest. A few coins to see me through would help, but perhaps I could offer my healing services for a copper merit here and there. Beatty would spare me something from the kitchen.
I folded my tattered dress into a tight little square. Set my knife atop it. I’d need a satchel of some sort, to carry it all in—
“Nym! There you are.” I’d left my door ajar, and Eden pushed it the rest of the way open. “I had an idea I wanted to run—”
She saw the folded dress and the knife, and somehow she knew. She didn’t even ask if I intended to leave, or where I was going or how I would get there. Instead, she rushed at me, grabbing my upper arms with rigid strength.
“No, no, Nym,” she pleaded, her nose inches from mine. “No, you’ve only just arrived. You can’t leave. You can’t.”
My next breath shuddered down my windpipe. “I have to, Eden. I don’t have a place here.”
“You do! You do, though. You . . .” She looked around as though the answer might be painted on the wall. “You’ll help with the infirmary, or with the delegation—”
I winced.
“—or in the kitchens, or just with me! I don’t need Piya.
I don’t . . .” Her composure collapsed. “Please, please. You’re the only one who understands.
The only thing rooting me to this place.
I waited for you and prayed for you, and now you’re here!
You’re here and we’re safe now, don’t you see?
” Her eyes watered even as her grip tightened.
“You can’t . . . Don’t . . . Please, Nym. ”
Her knees gave out, and I launched to grab her elbows, to steady her. She dropped her forehead to my shoulder, her short hair grazing my collar. “I’m not . . . ready,” she whispered. “Please don’t leave. Not yet.”
I embraced her, holding her tightly. One by one her fingers lifted from my arms, leaving small bruises.
How painfully broken we both were. So broken I wondered if time could ever mend us.
“I’ll stay,” I promised, absorbing some of her cracks into myself. “A little longer, Eden. I’ll stay.”
The next morning, I woke groggily from a fitful night to the sound of a trumpet, having dozed upright so I might not sleep too deeply and trigger bad dreams. It worked, in a way.
I did not lose myself to the throes of twisted memories, only unpleasant ones.
So while I’d overslept, fatigue limned my bones.
It was the first trumpet I’d heard at Derren Castle, so I pulled myself from bed and readied quickly, braiding my mess of hair to keep it presentable. The trumpet bellowed again as I descended the tower, slowing near Renn’s room, my fingers brushing his door before I forced myself to continue on.
Soldiers crowded the bailey, one Antsan to every four Canseren.
I searched for familiar faces, finally finding one in Beatty.
I wound to her side, noting the leather cord of her wedding pendant, my spirit gnawing at the rest of me as I remembered Renn’s words two nights previous.
Would I have agreed to marry him, if Antsan was not here? If the war allowed it?
My answer pressed hard against my skull, making my sinuses burn. Another trumpet drew my attention, and everyone else’s, to the castle wall, where Renn stood.
An awestruck gasp rose from the crowd like steam from a boiling pot as crystalline, ethereal wings spread from Renn’s back.
They caught the sunlight, flickering like prisms. After the gasps, the people fell silent.
Renn did not love attention, but he certainly knew how to command it.
His subjects stared at him like they would a god, too mesmerized to look away, though surely talk would come later, and abundantly.
The wings snapped from reality, as though they were never there. Renn needed his people to hear his voice, not gawk at his majesty.
Sten and two other guards lingered near him, as well as Eden. Farther down the wall were grouped part of the Antsan delegation, including Sir Arquan and Princess Azra, whose expressions revealed they were not immune to the magic of the Canseren king.
My heart plummeted as I watched Princess Azra staring at Renn with such adoration. Gods above, was this the marriage announcement? So soon?
I shrunk backward as Renn began to speak, instantly humiliated, searching for some sort of escape, but the press of bodies proved too great. Instead, I dowsed on myself, thickening the wall over my heart despite knowing it would do little good. Magic could only block magic to an extent.
When I came to, Renn’s words carried over the hushed throng: “—to bolster our numbers and fight for our kingdom. This will include crafters of all disciplines, including mindreaders and soulbinders.”
A collective murmuring, punctuated by gasps, filled the bailey. It took me only a moment to realize what I had missed.
Renn was lifting the ban on craftlock. All craftlock.
When he spoke my name, my breath caught.
“You see before you the work of Nym Tallowax, the healer who gave me back my legs, who restored what the gods intended.” I sensed distantly through the link a discomfort at the words what the gods intended.
He took a beat before continuing, and a wisp of sorrow danced through the link as well.
“Think what more healers in our ranks might accomplish, if one woman can do so much.”
He went on to detail how King Nicosia employs all crafters in his armies, giving him a strong upper hand against us.
How employing mindreaders would expand our spy networks, and soulbinders—the very same crafters that had breached Rove Castle—would secure our captives.
For a man who shied away from attention, he gave a rousing, albeit brief, speech to the men stationed at Derren Castle.
Others would learn by missive, as a retinue of messengers were sent out to read the declaration, regardless of whether or not they agreed with it.
Shielding my eyes and squinting at the emissary and princess on the wall, I had a feeling they did not agree with it.
Renn had professed he would find a way to win this war without bringing Antsan onto the throne.
Surely this was part of it. But crafters had been illegal for centuries, hated and haunted and even executed.
Only healers had been recently tolerated for the sake of healing Renn, and even we still carried a stigma.
This verdict could do so much good. It would help our cause. But Sesta had forcibly employed and trained crafters for far longer. It would not be enough.
Just as importantly, Renn appointed Eden to oversee the collection and training of crafters here at Derren Castle. This was the first time I’d seen Eden in any sort of public setting, and she seemed to stand a little straighter.
It relieved me to see it. Thank you, Renn.