Chapter 41
The halls of the Sanctum were quiet in the dead of night, the cold stone beneath Ilys’s boots swallowing the sound of her steps. Hanna curled in her arms, half-asleep, her small fingers knotted in the folds of Ilys’s cloak.
She moved fast, stepping over Gabriel’s body. She’d considered spinning a cover story to talk her way past him, but the risk was too great. She couldn’t chance Hanna being taken away. So Gabriel had gone down—and he wouldn’t be getting up again.
The child’s weight barely registered. She will not be me.That thought drove her forward.
The Sanctum’s corridors winded like veins, its walls old and aching with prayers long since faded.
Ilys knew its turns, its passages, the ways the stone whispered in the night.
But she had not accounted for Mother Inrith.
The old priestess drifted down the hall ahead, waiting.
Her white eyes, clouded and sightless, fixed somewhere beyond Ilys as she stopped.
Ilys halted, every muscle tensing, readying for reprimand, for demand, for the doctrine to slam down upon her.
Hanna stirred, pressing her face against Ilys’s chest.
Mother Inrith’s face rearranged itself, mouth curling upward by rote.
“The day has come?” she questioned, tilting her head in thought, her voice soft as parchment turned by a gentle hand.
Ilys’s grip on Hanna tightened. “Mother?”
Mother Inrith swayed, her gaze unfixed, looking through her rather than at her.
“Mother,” Ilys pressed, “what do you mean?”
The Mother laughed. “Obedient, but never devoted. You were always a broken bell, dissonant and barren.”
Ilys gritted her teeth, tucking Hanna closer. “Do not speak of devotion. I gave my life for his lies.”
“You were devoted to praise, never the faith,” Inrith condescended. Escape tugged at Ilys, but her pride rankled at the dismissing of her sacrifice.
“I was wholly devoted,” she pushed back, tears stinging her eyes. “I gave everything for my faith, stupid and green as I was. How dare you?”
“No,” the Mother denied primly. “But I see you are quite committed to your retelling.”
“Have you no shield to the lies I speak of?”
“You call them lies, I call it meaning. I call it sustenance for a sickly existence.”
“Your mind is gone,” Ilys spit, tired of the flowery, meaningless words.
“What else would I believe in, girl?” The Mother’s laughter deepened, brittle and knowing. “What is life without meaning?”
Ilys clutched the girl tighter, anger breaking through the confusion.
“I killed to give your life meaning? What excuse is that? What sense is that?”
Mother Inrith lifted a finger to her lips, barring words. “Tick tock, Veilwalker.”
The priestess reached toward her, as though to touch her cheek, but her hand only brushed the air. Then, with a soft hum and that same dreadful calm, she turned and pattered away.
Ilys stood frozen, watching the old woman disappear into the shadows of the corridor. She ran faster, carrying Hanna down the final stretch, slipping through the heavy doors of the Sanctum and into the night.
The cold met her immediately, biting and sharp as she crossed the courtyard in long, quiet strides.
The stables waiting ahead, the scent of hay and wood curling through the air.
Spire whinnied softly as she entered, her white coat gleaming faintly in the moonlight filtering through the rafters.
Ilys worked quickly, securing the girl to her front, wrapping her snug in bulky wool, tucking her safely against her chest.
Hanna stirred again, blinking up at her, confused, but Ilys hushed her gently, pressing a hand to her hair. "Hold tight, little one."
With practiced ease, she mounted Spire, her body fitting into the familiar rhythm of the saddle.
She did not look back. Not at the Sanctum. Not at the place where she had spent a lifetime kneeling, killing, believing.
She rode. The girl nestled closer, trusting, unknowing of the choice being made for her.
Ilys did not pray. She did not whisper to the Fates. She only rode, guiding Spire toward the one place she knew Hanna would be safe. To Rowenna.
Rowenna’s husband quietly gathered Beck, bundling him in warm layers before guiding them toward the village.
With a quiet sort of grace, he left the women to their solitude, sensing their need for privacy.
Ilys settled Hanna into the bed Rowenna had offered, smoothing stray strands of hair from her face and murmuring for her to sleep.
Once the small girl had begun her dainty snores, Ilys returned to the front room and painted the whole of it for Rowenna. The truth of the Bargain. The King’s cruelty. Grim in the Veil.
Rowenna met her gaze quietly, carefully gauging the depth of her friend’s resolve. Tears pricked Rowenna’s eyes, glittering gently.
“I am so sorry, Ilys,” she whispered softly, rubbing a comforting hand over Ilys’s. Taking her hand into her own, Rowenna pressed a tender kiss against it, her tears softly brushing against Ilys’s knuckles. “What will you do?”
Ilys’s eyes flashed with sudden, fierce resolve. She spoke evenly, a stark contrast to the chaos within. “I will kill him.”
Rowenna, pulled away her hand, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”
“After all I’ve told you, you would still be loyal to Annon?”
“Of course I am not loyal. He is a monster, Ilys,” she argued. “But you will not kill him. You would invite Death yourself.”
“Rowe, how many have I killed over the years?” she pressed.
“I—” Rowenna started.
“Exactly, you do not know. Because I have killed that many. Yet still you doubt my abilities?”
“If what you say is true, if he is older than the kingdom itself, then he will not be like all those men and women before,” she pushed back. “I worry, Ilys.”
Ilys cupped a hand to her friend’s cheek. “Do not worry.”
“Grim never wanted this for you,” Rowenna reminded her softly, sorrow heavy in her tone.
“Grim is gone,” Ilys replied fiercely, her voice tight with grief and rage. “This isn’t for Grim. This is for me, for the tattered soul I’ve been left with. I will strangle him with what remains.”
Ilys reached out, gripping Rowenna’s hand urgently. “I need you to do something for me. Take her to Tyl. Be with Leif’s family,” Ilys urged softly but firmly. “If I fail, the King will come for you and your family next. You must leave this place, Rowenna.”
“See—if.” Rowenna pressed, illustrating her point. Ilys chuckled at the attitude that had yet to leave her friend, now a seasoned mother.
“On the very slim occasion that I should fall. You will take her, yes?” She stared at Rowenna. “Say yes, Rowe.”
Rowenna drew a breath, troubled. “There are men in Tyl just as cruel, just as corrupt.”
Ilys sighed heavily, weariness shadowing her face.
“I am exhausted by talk of balance and cycles. I know that hate will always breed more hate. Another ruler, another tyrant, another monster will rise as quickly as we strike one down.” Her voice quieted, threaded with raw honesty.
“I no longer seek to balance scales I cannot hold. I only wish to return a fragment of what I’ve taken in the name of that endless cycle. ”
Rowenna pulled Ilys to her chest, holding her tight. “I will do it. I will do it.”
The door creaked open, spilling cold air into the room. Leif stepped in first, his broad frame filling the doorway, the boy tumbling past him like a pair of loose arrows.
“Beck!” Ilys barely had time to brace before he collided with her, small arms wrapping around her waist. She bent to meet him, clutching him close, breathing in his familiar, earthy scent.
“You’re back,” Beck said breathlessly.
“I am,” Ilys said softly, smoothing his hair, “but only for a moment.”
Rowenna rose, her face pale but set. “Wake her,” she urged quietly, tilting her head toward the bed where Hanna slept, her breathing evening. “She would want to know this is the last time.”
Ilys’s gaze lingered on Hanna, her chest aching at the thought. Then she shook her head.
“It is not the last time,” she said, her voice firm, as though willing it to be true.
“And I wouldn’t dare wake such a lovely dream.
” She padded over to the little Veilwalker, pressing a soft kiss to Hanna’s brow, her lips lingering there.
When she straightened, she pressed a finger to her lips, bidding Rowenna to cease arguing.
Then, with a hand trembling just enough to betray her, Ilys brushed the hair back from Hanna’s face.
“My stubborn girl,” she whispered, her voice both fierce and breaking. “My fierce girl. How proud you’ve made me.”
Ilys turned to Rowenna, drawing her close despite the swell of her belly, giggling at the space between them.
“I cannot wait to meet her,” she said, gaze fixed on the curve of Rowenna’s stomach.
“Her?” Rowenna arched a brow. “Confident.”
Ilys kissed each of her cheeks, breathing in the lavender scent of her oldest friend, her first great love. She leaned close, lips brushing Rowenna’s ear. “I laid with Death,” she whispered, a spark of mischief in her tone.
Rowenna smacked Ilys’s uninjured shoulder, eyes wide. “You did not.”
Ilys bit her lip and nodded, and the two of them collapsed into laughter, helpless and breathless. Rowenna gulped air like it might fill the hollow where sorrow threatened to creep in.
“I love you,” she said, voice soft but certain.
“I love you,” Ilys returned, her eyes wet as she tilted her face toward the ceiling, hiding her fear.
When she turned to Leif, her voice had steadied. “Leif, come here, you old bastard.” She wrapped her arms around him, holding tight. “I will haunt you if you do wrong by her.”
He laughed awkwardly, patting her back, not realizing this was Ilys’s tell—her quiet way of saying goodbye.
Despite her promises, despite her hopes, she did not plan to return.