Chapter 43
Forty-Three
Samaria
Surprisingly, the ride to the Onyx Guild moves swiftly and with ease. As we pull into the Onyx Keep, the horses slow, their hooves crunching under the ice and snow. I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm. The black stone walls of the keep are stark against the snowy backdrop of the Kirsgard Mountains. A drawbridge lowers, granting us access and moving the horses forward.
Jarek sits across from me, his eyes fixated out the window. In the days it took to arrive, we’ve hardly spoken of what happened to Sorin and Elora.
Have hardly spoken at all.
I run my fingers over the Awakening Stones in my lap before securely placing them in a bag on my hip.
The door to the caravan swings open and to my surprise, Ulric stands on the other side. He holds up a hand and I take it before stepping out into the frigid mountain air. “You made it,” Ulric says. “I’m so relieved!”
His eyes dart past Jarek and I, so I recline out of the way, and when he sees Agnes, he lets out a long breath.
Jarek steps out next, and while I’m shivering against the harsh wind, he looks comfortable among the cold. His eyes roam the mountains in the distance before landing back on me. There’s a moment of silence between the four of us before Jarek slams the caravan doors shut and the driver leads the horses away. Ulric grabs my arm, then my mothers.
“Everyone’s waiting for you, Sam.” He smiles, Agnes nestling into his side, stealing some of his warmth.
After changing and scarfing down a quick meal of boiled eggs and fruit, Jarek and I find our way to the meeting room.
I freeze, dropping Jarek’s hand, when out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a spirit.
“My queen?” He reaches for me again, but I’m already moving toward the apparition.
The spirit smiles, mouthing my name over and over again, though with the portal closed I cannot hear her. I reach out for her, flicking my wrists up but as soon as the portal opens, she’s gone.
“Are you okay, Sam?” Jarek’s voice draws my attention.
“Yes.” I sigh and take his hand, following him into the meeting room.
Enchantresses, both living and in the spirit realm, all watch as we take a seat around the black, marbled table. Their eyes are hopeful. Angry. Thirsty for a revenge I’m not sure I can promise.
“I…” I bite my tongue. Where do I start?
Hello, I’m Samaria. Another person who sat by and did nothing to help you ? —
“You have nothing to fear here, Enchantress,” a woman says, seated across from me. She’s older, her fiery hair pulled tightly in a bun, accentuating the sharpness of her cheekbones.
“How did you?—”
“She’s an Empath,” another woman says. Her glowing, glacial eyes give her away as an Enchantress immediately. She glances at Jarek for a moment, her eyes widening. “Sailor?”
Jarek laughs and extends his hand across the table to meet hers. “Sera,” he says. “I can’t believe it.” She smiles, her hand still locked with Jareks.
“I’m missing something,” I whisper. “You know each other?” Finally, they drop hands and Sera pours me a glass of water and slides it across the table.
“Many years ago,” Jarek says, “Sera saved my life.”
I glance at her again, her dark hair is cut blunt to her chin, her eyes beaming over her glass.
“Where are Calix and my mother?” I change the subject.
“Here,” Calix says as he enters the room. He glances around before his eyes land on me. “Elora? Is she here?”
My heart races, my chest much too tight. He doesn’t know she’s gone. How will I tell him this daughter he has barely just met has died. “She?—”
“There’s been a slight delay,” Jarek says, taking my hand. “We will continue on without them for now.” Calix nods before taking his seat at the end of the table.
I glance over my shoulder, relaxing a bit as Evren, Tallulah, and Thaddeus join us next.
Clutching my glass of water, I scan the room that’s filled to the brim with Loxlians, people of the Jade Guild, and the Onyx Guild. There are two empty spots at the head of the table and the sight of them sends a whirl of doubt through me.
Sorin should be here.
A heavy silence settles over the space, not even Calix offers any words until the doors swing open and the final two guests arrive.
The first woman is dressed in head-to-toe sapphire. Her blonde hair is swept over her shoulder, her eyes wide and gleeful. Tiny seashell earrings dangle and sway as she takes her seat next to Calix at the table. She crosses her hands and whispers something in his ear. Rings of every shade of blue adorn her fingers made of shells and sea glass and pearls.
Must be Lady Oletta of the Cerulean Guild. I glance again to the seashells on her ears, wondering if she fished them from the Holden Sea herself.
A throat clears behind me as Lady Mordona of the Bloodstone Guild passes by. The spirits tense around the room. Each of them narrowing their gaze as she sits on Calix’s opposite side, with Thaddeus on her other. Her dark skin is radiant against her deep, crimson gown. Thick, teardrop bloodstones hang from her ears and when she catches my eye she gives me a sly grin.
“Now that we’re all here,” Thaddeus says, “let’s get started.”
“Wait a moment, please.” Lady Mordona holds up an elegant hand, even her nails are painted the color of blood. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Calix, but I don’t see the guest of honor.” She turns so her gaze is only on me. Her eyes narrow, and as I begin to shrink against her scrutiny a cold, a feather-light hand dusts my shoulder.
Then the other.
Under the table, I raise my hands, opening the line of communication with the spirits. Elwyn whispers in my ear, “ Don’t be afraid of her, Samaria.” I have become accustomed to her voice; she has hardly left my side since Elora…
I struggle to swallow as another spirit whispers in my ear.
“Samaria .”
I glance to my left. The same spirit I swore I saw when Sorin died. The same one I saw just now in the hallway.
Her body ebbs and flows like a breeze. Her dark, red hair is long and loose. Her skin glowing much like Elwyn’s. Her rich eyes flare as I meet her, and for a moment, I forget she’s dead.
Elwyn smiles and nods, extending her hand to the spirit Enchantress. They clasp hands, their faces beaming.
“ Celia ,” Elwyn says and my stomach drops.
Sorin’s mother.
“So, Samaria,” Lady Mordona says, interrupting the rising panic in my chest, “where is your brother?”
Every single pair of eyes in the room lands on me. My legs tremble as I stand, but I stand anyway, dropping my hands to my sides.
Be strong.
“He has gone to find the Fates.”
Just as I thought, the room erupts in gasps and hushed whispers. Lady Mordona scoffs, throwing her hands in the air. I watch closely as Lady Oletta leans into her, whispering something I’ll never know.
“You have wasted our time, again,” Mordona snaps, looing at Calix and Thaddeus. She stands to leave, not bothering to right her chair as it topples backward and the thrumming in my chest intensifies.
I have to convince them Sorin is the heir. Have to convince them to back him in front of the council.
Without Sorin being here.
Have to prove that he is the king, otherwise…
“Wait!” I block her path before she can reach the door.
“Move, girl.” She pushes past me, but I dart in front of her again.
“He may not be here,” I say, “but I have this.” I slide Sorin’s decree of birth from my pocket, thankful that despite his urgency to leave, he remembered to pass it to me.
Lady Mordona’s eyes don’t leave mine, even as I hold the parchment into the air. “I have seen this,” she snarls. “It isn’t enough. The four families of the Guilds have been entrusted by Valebridge for centuries to help oversee all of Teravie. It’s just as much our duty to look after this country as it is the kings. We will not so readily appoint a new ruler without solid proof that he is the rightful heir. We are all enraged at the outcome of King Roman, but this is not enough.”
She shoulders past me, and this time I let her go.
What would Sorin do? What would he?—
A cold drift breezes across my neck so I flip my hands up. “What would you do, Sam?” Celia’s spirit whispers in my ear. The hair on my arms and neck raise.
What would I do?
I’ve never been as eloquent as Sorin. Never been as diplomatic or level headed. Always the first to lose my temper or spoil a surprise.
“Be strong,” my mother would say.
Right, be strong.
Don’t cry.
Chin up.
Smile. Wider.
Your brother is looking up to you.
Set the example.
Be the example.
Be strong. Be strong. Be strong.
Keep his secrets.
Better yet, keep quiet.
But always, always be strong.
I take a large breath and turn to face the door, that bubbling rage straightening my spine.
“Show me your rage then,” I say, “because I do not see it. Show me, and I’ll challenge it with mine. The rage of a first born daughter.”
Her heels scuff against the stone floor as she stops in the doorway.
“I assure you, it would not be a fair match.” She glances briefly over her shoulder. “If you leave now, Lady Mordona, you are writing off the deaths of hundreds of Enchantresses merely because you don’t see this piece of paper as proof enough for change.” I hold the paper out again, even though her back is turned to me. “Are their lives not worth a second glance?”
Please.
Please look at it.
When she doesn’t turn, I spin on my heels.
“And what of you, Lady Oletta?” My voice has risen and all the chatter around me ceases. Sorin has always been the one to spin a tale as smooth as butter but perhaps that isn’t what is needed today.
Perhaps something sharper is needed today.
“Are you as enraged as Mordona claims you to be?” She stiffens, her eyes drifting over my shoulder, I’m sure to where Mordona still stands. “Are you willing to let Roman continue to kill and imprison women like them”—I point to the Enchantresses at the table—“like me, because of a piece of paper?”
Lady Oletta’s eyes may be warmer than Mordona’s, but there’s something off putting about the way she watches me. Like I’m an all too easy catch and she’s been hungry for far too long.
No one says a word so I continue on, buying as much time as I can until Sorin makes it here.
If he makes it here.
“I’ll be the first to admit that I have regretted my choices the last five years.” I ignore the eyes burning into me and instead power all of my focus on Lady Oletta. Mordona shifts behind me, her gown scratching against the marble floors, but I don’t turn to her.
The presence of Elwyn and Celia’s spirits crowd me, but this time I don’t feel suppressed by them, I feel empowered. “My family and I lived in a place called Loxley.”
Jarek slides his hand to the back of my arm, giving it a squeeze.
Keep going.
“It was a village of outcasts some would call it.” A few of the Loxlians in the room chuckle. I find Ulric in the crowd, but his face is stoic, watching me through tearful eyes. “We paved our own way, living outside the jurisdiction of Valebridge long before Roman was on the throne, and when we heard of his injustices, we…” I run the back of my hand across my forehead. Beads of sweat trickle down my temples. Elwyn and Celia wrap their arms around my shoulders.
I keep my arms low, but raise my hands to open the portal.
“Go on, Sam ,” Elwyn whispers at my side. “Keep going.”
Right.
Keep going.
“We turned a blind eye.” I look at the Enchantress seated around the table. The one Jarek called Sera watches me over her glass, her lips turned up in a smirk.
“We chose to keep our own safe instead of fighting for those who needed us most. And for that I can confidently speak for every Loxlian when I say, we’re sorry. Truly, sorry.”
It’s quick, but I don’t miss Sera’s lip trembling before she covers it with her water glass. Tallulah is in the chair to my right, her fingers find mine and I finally exhale.
“My brother is the rightful heir to Valebridge.”
Lady Mordona bumps me as she passes by. She retakes her seat next to Lady Oletta.
“It has been proven by this verified decree of birth as well as from the Fates.”
“A bold claim,” Oletta says. “The Fates have not been seen in Teravie since King Bastian and Queen Soleil called upon them hundreds of years ago.”
“Yes.” I drop Tallulah’s hand to cross my arms. “That is exactly my point, Lady Oletta. The Fates have somehow driven my brother and Elora together. He has seen it multiple times in visions and through the nymph Grawgeth.” The women stiffen but Thaddeus shoots me a quick grin. “Five years ago Roman made a choice to banish our magick. Harvest it from us as if it were free to take. And when did the blight start, Lady Mordona?”
She purses her lips and looks to her lap.
“Lady Oletta? Surely you have seen affects from the constant storms in the ocean considering your Guild resides nearest the coast. Have you not noticed?”
She chews her bottom lip but slowly, she nods.
“And you think there is no correlation? That when the Enchantresses have been mistreated, Mother Gaia has mistreated us in turn?”
“We hear you, Samaria,” Lady Mordona says, a sharp tone lacing her voice. “So, what are you suggesting? The four of us alone cannot coronate Sorin, we need the backing of the council.”
“So, then I will get it,” I snap. Lady Mordona laughs but I cut her short. “And you will help me.” Her eyebrows raise but I don’t give her a chance to speak. “I am tired of sitting by and watching. I am tired of hiding. Tired of running.” I turn from the Guild members and address the room of people before me who have fallen eerily quiet. “I am tired of those who live in Valebridge telling me what I can and cannot do. Where I can and cannot live. What rations I can and cannot have.”
A few voices chime in.
“Here, here,” one says.
“About time someone says it,” whispers another.
I turn back to the head of the table, the fear and uncertainty that nearly crippled me earlier has washed away and underneath it all, a new voice flows from my lips.
One of confidence and courage. Of anger and spite. Vengeful and compassionate all in one.
“I will not wait for you to decide the fate of our country.”
The ladies share a glance, their lips pressed tightly together.
“Aye.” Jarek stands, taking my hand. “Neither will I. I’m with you, Samaria Trednik.”
“Me too.” I scan the room to find the voice. Thomas sits perched on a small chair in the back of the room. His golden skin and auburn hair, easy to identify. “I’m with you.”
My heart swells and I clench onto Jarek’s hand.
“We’re with you, Sam,” Tallulah says.
Evren nods, his green eyes holding a hint of mischief. “We’re with you, Sam,” he says.
Tears sting in my eyes and I don’t bother holding them back as I watch each person save for Lady Oletta and Lady Mordona rise from their chairs.
The same three words echoed over and over again.
“We’re with you.”
“We’re with you.”
“We’re with you.”
When the last person rises, my hand is shaking in Jarek’s. I glance behind me, hoping Celia or Elwyn’s spirit are still there but they’re gone.
“Well look at you,” Lady Mordona says. “Seems as though you’re quite the talker, just like that brother of yours.”
Sour words build on my tongue, but before I can spew them, Oletta stands abruptly, startling both Calix and Thaddeus. “What is your plan, Samaria? To waltz into Valebridge and demand Sorin take the throne?”
No, I want to say.
Of course that isn’t my plan. Because this—I look to my right, at every person still standing watching me—is bigger than the throne.
This is justice for an entire country.
Not just Enchantresses, but every single one of us.
“No, Lady Oletta.” I drop Jarek’s hand and brace myself against the table. “My plan is to go to war.”