Chapter 18
A gasp snags in my throat as my dream falls away and the dark room materializes around me again.
For once, my heart isn’t racing; I sense no danger, but an unfamiliar presence lingers in my mind.
One as shattered as Carys’s aura—filled with thunderous defiance and brittle submission.
Not just shattered, but something I cannot quite put my finger on. It nudges my curiosity.
At first there was only Carys in the dream, but somehow, I couldn’t interact with her. But I could interact with Winnie. Something was off about her, like a dropped stitch in a knitted scarf—barely noticeable unless closely scrutinized.
Until now, I’ve never been able to connect with someone other than Carys and Tiernan in a dreamscape.
Or maybe it was a dream with no magic at play. I once had regular dreams, didn’t I? It’s hard to remember.
With a steadying breath, I peer at Taig sprawled out on his back, limbs outstretched, mouth gaping wide.
Tiernan’s the opposite, collected even in his sleep, his hand tucked under his head as he lies on his side.
I curl up on my side as well, trying to get comfortable.
As much as thinking it was just a dream would make things simpler, it’s never simple.
I’m not sure what to make of it, but I have other things to worry about.
Like the news that I’m the daughter of Dayfyd O’Hara and the late Queen Morwenna.
Ava is my half sister. As is Carys. As impossible as this seems, my uncanny connection to Carys suddenly makes sense.
It’s why, even with great distance between us, our dreams are still easily interconnected.
We share some of the same blood, some of the same magic.
We share the same darkness.
My chest aches at the thought that the parents who raised me weren’t my birth parents.
I know family is more than just blood, but it feels like my life has been a lie.
Between not even knowing I had magic, and only now finding out that the woman who gave birth to me was the queen of Erleya. My gods …
There isn’t much time to dwell on any of this. I’m in desperate need of answers from the Purist and don’t want to delay any more than I already have. As I slip out of bed, Tiernan sits up, his hand immediately reaching for the sword that is, again, not on his back. He’s becoming jumpier by the day.
“It’s just me,” I say, hoping to keep my voice quiet.
His body noticeably relaxes. He blinks sleep out of his eyes and then groggily looks at me. “You’re awake early,” he signs.
I walk backward to the wardrobe with measured steps. “I had a strange dream,” I admit. “It felt like a dreamscape, but it wasn’t Carys. At least not by herself.”
Tiernan frowns.
“Yes, it confused me too.” I turn and reach into the wardrobe, choosing a cream-colored tunic and a muted blue skirt. Facing Tiernan again, I drape the clothes over my forearm to sign, “I couldn’t interact with Carys, but I could interact with the other woman. Winnie.”
“That’s interesting,” says Tiernan, his forehead creased in thought. Agreeing, I nod.
He begins getting dressed as well, and I leave the room to wake up Chiyo so we can all head to the Hatchling’s Nest early to drop Taig off.
Before the ninth morning bell, we make our way toward the training fields where Chiyo is sure that we’ll run into Ava.
The grass is so trampled, there’s more dirt than greenery.
On one side there are sparring busts and bullseyes, and on the other, there’s wide-open space.
Already, it’s been overtaken by fighters training with magic and with weapons.
My heart thuds in time with my rapid steps as hundreds of clouds scatter across the sky, glowing pink and gold from the hidden rays of the sun.
Ava is shouting at someone when we first spot her, but she halts the session as soon as we approach.
Even knowing what I do now, her purposeful strides toward us, shoulders thrown back, arms swinging, makes me tense up.
But today, despite her perpetually unimpressed face, there’s a hint of compassion in her eyes that I haven’t noticed before.
“What is it?” she asks impatiently. Her gaze falters on Chiyo momentarily, but she turns steely eyes back to me while Chiyo seems to struggle to contain a smile.
“I want to talk to the Purist,” I say.
Ava flicks a few of her braids over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” A muscle in her left cheek twitches, the corner of her lips momentarily quirking up. “You fit right in with the O’Hara clan.”
I’m not ready to consider myself an O’Hara, so I keep my mouth shut.
“The Purist is being kept at the Hold. I can walk you over there; just let me dismiss this session.”
I nod, and she turns to walk away. I keep my eyes on the trodden blades of grass as I try to think of what I’d even say to the Purist. There was so much she shouted at me that I couldn’t make out.
As soon as Ava returns, we head to the Hold in silence.
The building stands on the other side of the infirmary, closest to the battlements at the invisible barricade formed by the wards.
Stepping into the building, I expect to feel like I’m back in the brig again, but it feels nothing like that.
There’s a small desk staffed by a portly man with wispy blond hair.
A couple of guards, ununiformed save for a copper pin on their chests, stand on either side of a door.
Ava faces the man, who looks up from a small stack of paperwork. “This is Durvla Garrick … and friends,” she says. “We’ve come to see the Purist.”
The man looks uncertain, but he nods. Ava thanks him before approaching the guards. They salute, then the taller of the two opens the door and steps aside.
I expect to see iron bars and multiple cells, but a small room with a solitary chair and a commode in the corner greets us instead.
My eyes follow iron chains bolted into the ground, ending in a cuff around the Purist’s ankle.
Slumped in the chair, she lifts her head, wild silvery eyes peering out from her curtain of unkempt platinum hair.
The whites of her eyes nearly swallow her irises as her gaze lands on me.
My pulse spikes. I glance at Tiernan and rapidly sign, “Can you translate for me if needed?”
“Of course,” he motions back.
The woman’s eyes go impossibly wide. “You’re deaf,” she says, seemingly befuddled.
“I am.” I step closer, and she noticeably flinches. “And you’re afraid of me.”
“Why wouldn’t I be afraid of a Basduun?”
My heart constricts. Why not, indeed? Taking a breath, I try not to let her words get to me. “How do you know I’m a Basduun?”
“I’ve been blessed by the same goddess who cursed your bloodline,” she spits. “The gods have blessed us with various gifts. The power to imbue talismans to track down evildoers. The power of discernment—to sense the magic that lies within the tainted many.”
Tiernan quickly translates for me, and I run the words through my mind. “Who are the tainted many?” I ask.
“Those cursed with elemental Wielding, with dark magic. Those who abuse the gifts of the gods.”
She’s trembling like a leaf in the wind—out of anger or fear, I cannot tell.
“What makes the magic of others different from yours?”
“No mortal should be allowed such unlimited power. To summon flames, water, wind, to manipulate the earth, the skies. It’s an abomination.
My people utilize our imbuing powers for good.
The few of us that were once tainted have Cleansed our blood of that undeserved power.
We will Cleanse all of Erleya. And then the gods will rise again and walk among us. ”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “The gods? Walk among us?”
Her eyes grow distant. She begins to recite her words as if she’s practiced them for years.
“The fall of the gods will begin with the rebirth of the Enchantress Queen. The daughter of Agryna and Ehlach—bearer of the curse of the enchantress—shall unleash chaos on the kingdom. Unless the ultimate sacrifice is made to Caiolair.”
My skin crawls from her words. “Who is Caiolair? And what sacrifice?”
“Caiolair is the god of balance. The sacrifice he requires is a life for a life.”
Lierwen and Rhianu are the father and mother of the gods—they hold the pantheon in balance. Or did.
The same confusion that I’m sure is on my face twists Chiyo’s. She crosses her arms, and Ava steps forward, a domineering presence. “A life for a life?” she asks. “Whose life?”
The woman turns sharply to Ava. Tiernan translates her spoken words for me: “The lives of the Heirs of Dusk and Embers. Of the one touched by fire and of the lost Heir with the corrupted powers of Ehlach—of the abhorrent Basduunai. They both must be destroyed.”
My stomach twists.
“And your people seek to … terminate the Heirs?” Ava asks.
A grin splits the woman’s face. “For the greater good.”
Ava rolls her eyes not so subtly. “Where did you get your information from?”
“Our high priestess, Nimue, the greatest oracle of our time. Has spoken the truth about the doom upon Erleya. The Heirs must be destroyed, and the Zenith must be stopped as they seek to bring Erleya back to its corrupt magical existence.”
“How many of you are out there? And where do you reside?” Ava asks.
“We are countless, and we are everywhere. We won’t give up until we rid the land of all aberrations.
” She blows hair from her face and focuses her hateful eyes on me.
“I’m not the only one in search of you, Basduun.
My kin will find you. And when they do, they’ll end the Basduunai bloodline once and for all. ”
I don’t notice I’m shaking until Ava, Chiyo, and Tiernan’s attention is fully on me.
I wrap my arms around myself, feeling the quake from deep within my body, my chest growing tighter until it pains me.
I back away and rush out of the room, refusing to stop until I’m outside.
Doubled over, I fight to regulate my harsh breathing.