13. Golden Wings
Golden Wings
S weat dotted my brow as I sat in one of the tufted leather chairs situated around the table. Lenn settled in an identical chair next to me, and the High Priestess took up a spot across from us, steepling her hands in front of her mouth.
“As you were away,” Lenn began, “you’ll not have seen my raven. We received troubling information yesterday, about the assassin responsible for Queen Petra’s death.”
She glanced down at the table, her gaze distant. “I take it you were able to question Talon Arlbright then?”
“Yes,” I said, “the delegation from AEldin included one of their king’s Skymasters. We were not expecting, however, for Rensif Lightwing to be among the party.”
Lady Estrid’s gaze snapped up at that. “The Council did not send word beforehand?”
I shook my head. “But because of her power, Talon Arlbright had no choice but to tell us the truth. Whatever her ulterior motives, I am thankful for that. He gave a description of the assassin. A man shrouded in darkness, with golden, feathered wings and who spoke?—”
“The language of the gods,” she cut in, making my pulse stutter. My mouth hung open in shock and Lenn’s breathing grew heavier. She looked between the two of us coolly. “Am I right?”
I nodded, unable to find my voice.
“How did you know?” Lenn asked.
From the pocket of her purple robe, she drew out a lustrous golden feather. “Because I found this.” She placed the feather on the table gently, a near match to the one locked away for safekeeping in the Citadel.
“Where did you get that?” My nails bit into my palm.
Determination settled on her delicate brow. “Let me start at the beginning, Your Majesty. It will be easier to explain.”
“By all means,” I said.
“What did your mother tell you of the Hidden Grove?” she began.
“Very little. Only that it must remain protected.”
“Just so.” Lady Estrid folded her hands on the table, amber eyes roving over the maps.
“The Hidden Grove is a sacred place, Your Majesty. One that is vital to our people. As I’m sure you have noticed, things are a little…
different here than they are in the outside world.
To many, our task may seem inconsequential, even childish.
It is natural after so many years, of course, that the people’s faith has dwindled. But in truth, they have forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?” I kept my voice level, reigning in my impatience.
Her gaze darkened. “The nearness of the gods,” she said, looking slowly between us.
“The tales of the gods' involvement in man’s harnessing of magic are not children’s stories, Your Majesty.
They are the absolute truth. It was here in the Grove that the exchange took place, and it is here that we are still able to commune with the gods.
” She raised a hand and pushed her graying blonde hair away from her brow, revealing her Mark.
A silvery image of a star right below the hairline.
She continued, “The Mark is not simply how the gods choose who will serve them. It is also how we can open the doorway to the Grove and access the secrets hidden within. But as the years have gone on, fewer and fewer are born with the Mark.”
“Why?”
Lady Estrid straightened up. “There is an imbalance, Your Majesty,” she said. “Your mother was beginning to suspect as much, considering the increase of myrkva in our lands. It’s why she came to see me the day she died, and why I made the journey north.”
Something twinged in my chest. Mother suspected something was going on… but she never shared as much with me. Tears welled in my eyes at the revelation. Did she not trust me? Was I not worthy of the information?
I pushed the thoughts aside for now. It was an answer, even if it hurt.
“That’s where you found the feather?” I nodded at the object. Its vane glittered in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The downy barbs closer to the bottom of the shaft were darker than the rest of it, unlike the smaller feather we’d found in my mother’s room.
“Yes. It’s the missing piece of the puzzle. After spending nearly every day in the Grove, I can sense its celestial energy.”
The knot in my gut twisted tighter. “Tell me what it is,” I said. It could not be mistaken as a request.
She clenched her tattooed jaw, hesitating only a moment before saying, “He is a huathe. ”
My breath came out in a rush. “What? How can that be?”
Mother used to read me stories from the Vostra , the tales of the gods passed down from our ancestors.
The huathes never played a large role in any of the stories, except as servants to the higher gods and messengers to the nightworld of Brax.
At most, their greatest offense was causing mischief.
They primarily appeared in the form of a golden owl, though there were some stories that depicted them as more human-like creatures.
“As I said, Your Majesty, there is an imbalance between the celestial realm and the human world. The line between fairy stories and reality is growing fainter every day. The hordes of myrkva in our lands should be evidence enough of that.”
“And this huathe ? Where did he come from?” Lenn asked.
“As best I can tell,” she replied slowly, “he was sent here by the gods. An attempt to rectify the imbalance.”
“Rectify?” Sudden anger washed over me. “By killing my mother?”
Lenn brought a hand down on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. My pulse gradually slowed under the power of his heartsthread, warmth spreading through my chest.
“The huathe, ” Lenn interjected, keeping his hand on me, “he said something in the godstongue before he murdered the queen. ‘ Ir hon, andask í tví er hon’, as Arlbright tells it. ” His gruff voice stumbled over the strange words.
The High Priestess shuddered, her eyes going cold. The sigh she released sounded like it belonged to a much older woman. “It means: ‘She is; therefore, she dies.’ Seems I was correct.”
“She is…” I repeated, my mind going blank. “She is what ? What could she have done to deserve such a cruel fate?” The silence that was my answer stretched out interminably. In that void of sound, my anger brewed ever hotter.
Too many questions raised and not enough answers supplied. My mind swam in the cesspool, floundering to keep from drowning. The Shadow stayed silent as a dark sort of energy rolled off her.
“What do you know about your family’s power, Your Majesty?” the High Priestess finally said, her tone even and calm.
The power she spoke of roiled in my chest like a beast in a cage, clawing for release. “As much as I was told.”
No one knows where the darkthread came from, but Bridja Falk was the first to exhibit its power.
It’s since passed from one descendant of Bridja’s to the next.
I wasn’t sure what Lenn knew about it, and there were things my mother said had to remain secret about our gift. Most of all, the Shadow’s existence.
Lady Estrid tilted her head at me slightly, a cold light shining from her amber eyes. “But you know it is unlike the powerthreads of the other clans, do you not?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if she was testing me or holding me in contempt.
I pressed my lips together, biting back the acrid words circling on my tongue. “As I was born with a heartsthread that didn’t work and received a new thread upon my mother’s death… Yes, I am aware that Shadewardens are a little different. ”
“The heartsthread comes from you father, Vor,” Lenn offered. “But you were born to inherit the darkthread from your mother, whether by her death or by her release of the Shadow into your care.”
My eyes snapped to his face. “You know about the Shadow?” I breathed, heat rising to my cheeks. Of course, he and my mother had been close, but I never dreamed she would tell him.
“As do I,” Lady Estrid cut in. “The Shadow is a feature unique to the holder of the darkthread, passed from one queen to the next as far back as Bridja Falk herself. She— the Shadow—is the source of the power; the darkthread is merely how you control it. Because of that, there can only ever be one Shadewarden at any given time.”
“I know all this,” I said dismissively, pressing into the back of my chair. It was like being a child again, sitting at my mother’s knee and listening to her instructions. She used to disguise them as stories. “What does any of it have to do with the assassin and my mother’s death?”
“Think about it, Your Majesty.” She thumped her hand on the table.
Her voice was triumphant, as if she too was unraveling the mystery with me.
“Think of what the assassin said: ‘she is ; therefore, she dies.’ It cannot be a coincidence that he spoke these words before murdering the only Shadewarden in existence.”
Understanding washed over me. “He killed her because of her power.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Lenn grumbled from his place at my side. “Many of the Erling Queens have come to untimely ends. What did he hope to accomplish?”
The three of us sat in silence for a long moment, stewing on the information. A light breeze swept in from an open window and stirred the feather on the table, drawing my eye.
“Celestial energy…” The words hung in the air. “The huathe ,” I continued quickly, “he is a demigod then?”
“Close to it,” Lady Estrid answered, pressing two fingers against her temple. “Perhaps whoever sent him thought his divine nature would disrupt the pattern and destroy the darkthread. Clearly”—she glanced pointedly at my waves of white hair—“that is not the case.”
“And if that’s true,” Lenn said, voice taut with worry, “then he likely knows his task is unfinished.”
I worried at my bottom lip with my teeth, cycling through the course of the conversation in my mind. “At least now we are on our guard,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “But we know the darkthread did not come from the Mother, like the others. I don’t see how celestial power could affect it.”