by Brandon Barr
“Then one day, I saw again the man who started it all, the man who had come into my room that night. His body swayed alongside several other men hanging from the gallows in the city’s courtyard. I stood there, horrified.
“I had always assumed my words changed the life of the hearer. Gave them what they needed to go on. To become whole. To find peace.
“And then, as I stood there, my heart torn by confusion, words came to me to speak to someone. I obeyed, weaving my way through a sparse crowd of onlookers until I saw an old woman in a dingy white cloak limping painfully with a walking staff toward the gallows. I knew instantly by the Makers’ insight that she was the dead man’s mother.
“She stopped and fell on her knees at the base of the platform and began to wail. I knelt beside her and told her the words given me. That he loved her and that he had tried to go back and find her, and how he regretted ever running away as a boy. She fell to the dusty ground, thrashing, her tears soaking into the dirt.
“I had never stayed after speaking the words, but this time, I did. I discovered she had found her lost son by reading his name on the town’s board of justice. She had hobbled the entire way there, only to find her boy swaying from the noose, condemned for stealing from the city lord’s manor.
“She died days later, refusing to eat or drink. I stayed by her bedside and comforted her. She thanked me for my words. She said they eased her pain, but I knew they were insufficient. She had needed to see her son alive. To touch him and cry with him. Why couldn’t the Makers have sent me to her earlier, and given me words of direction for her, so that she could have found him before? So that she could have held him and heard from his own mouth how much he loved her and how sorry he was for leaving her? Maybe, if his mother had found him sooner, he wouldn’t have committed the crime that had sent him to the ropes.
“After that, I made it my mission to investigate every person I had given words to. What I found after more than a year was that my words were a mix of blessings and curses for the people I gave them to. It blessed them, but it did so without taking away the cruelty, just as it had with the old woman. Your sons loved you, but they are dead. Your husband who is lost at sea is still alive, but you will likely never see him again. The dear friend who betrayed you regrets what he did, but your friendship will never be restored, because he ran so far away.
“There were a few who were reconciled. Only a few. But not enough—not even close to enough.
“That is when I knew,” said Sanctuss Voyanta. “That is when I knew I couldn’t trust the Makers. When I, a mere human, weak and mortal, had better motives and foresight than the most powerful beings in our universe. That told me they were up to something far different than I had thought when I first received my gift.”
Winter’s eyes were soft, and they didn’t turn away from the Sanctuss. “It seems we want to fix the cruelty more strongly than the Makers,” said Winter.
“Precisely,” said the Sanctuss. “And from my vantage point, that makes them the cruelest monsters of all. With power comes the high calling of responsibility. That is the axiom of the Guardians.”
“Do you think me a fool for still wanting to trust them? For holding out hope that there is a reason for their apparent failing?” Winter asked.
The Sanctuss’ smile was warm. “Dear girl, not at all. I still carry the burden of rejecting the Makers. When I am honest with myself, I still wonder, like you, if the Makers are good and have good reason for allowing cruelty. I think every Oracle is haunted by doubts, no matter which side of the mountain they stand on.”
“Thank you,” said Winter. “I will treasure your honesty forever. I feel so close to you. Even if we are on opposite sides of the mountain.”
Sanctuss Voyanta smiled painfully and wiped at her eyes. The dredging up of those memories was so excruciating. They hung in her mind as she brushed at her tears, distracting her from noticing Winter tenderly reaching out with her hand.
The girl’s fingers came up and lightly touched the side of her face. The Sanctuss jerked from the contact. Fire jolted through her, sending her sideways off her chair. She crumpled onto the floor, the reality of what Winter had done dawning on her.
“No!” the Sanctuss whimpered, her voice quivering with terror. But it was too late.
“I tried to do what you wouldn’t!” Voyanta called out, not at Winter, but into the void. Into the invisible realm. She knew they heard. But did they feel? Did they care?
The warmth from Winter’s touch moved slowly down her neck. In a familiar whisper, she heard the Maker’s words, a voice she hadn’t heard in many long years, not since her deliverance.
But this time, the word was for her.
She lay there and wept, one hand over her mouth as the warmth encircled her heart.
The closeness of the dark. Wrapping its arms around her. The Maker’s words, echoing. Echoing. Even after her body lay dead.
HEARTH
Chapter Sixteen
MELUSCIA
When Meluscia first slipped into her own cold bed in the early morning hour, she was drunk off the power and ecstasy of the night’s encounter. The dark. The late hour. Mica, barely cognizant, stirred out of the fog of sleep to make love to her—all had conspired together, and she’d relished the memory of Mica’s skin against her own, and the taste of what love and being cherished felt like.
But now, as she lay in her bed, shaft light brightening her room, something akin to shame crawled over her skin. She stared at the angled opening at the top of the rock wall opposite her bed. Sunlight filtered through in a beam swirling gently with motes of dust.
In one single night, she had forsaken her scriptures and their sacred principles, and betrayed her own convictions.
An empty hunger deep inside had pushed her over the edge. No longer heir of the kingdom, she had frantically run to the one other thing she wanted, and had taken it, before it too, slipped from her fingers.
Now her heart teetered between guilt and awe over what she’d experienced. After last night, she felt capable of anything. Like a woman suddenly awakened to a world of new possibilities.
A woman unrestrained.
Had something changed? Was she a different person now than she was yesterday morning? Had her standards shifted?
Did she want them to shift?
She thought of Regent Adulyyn’s advice…find a secret lover…
Only a week ago, she had resisted the suggestion, but now, such a short time later, she’d found her way into a man’s bed…a man not even aware of it.
But she had tasted what it was like to have a secret lover. For a moment, her mind slipped back into the memory of it, but a trace of guilt chased after, drawing her back to her own room. Her own bed.
Her heart felt as if it had been split open and a chasm lay between one side and the other. The morals and ethics that had governed her life from the days of childhood—these stood on one side. On the other, this new thing. Last night she had unlocked a woman inside she didn’t know existed. She’d chased something she wanted. She had never given in to the desires of her imagination like that. Never taken a risk that wild before.
But having done so, a wall was torn down. A wall that had slowly been crumbling ever since she began visiting that damned spies’ passage. Why couldn’t she have remained satisfied by Jonakin, and loved the ghost in her imagination?
Part of her was scared, for the thrill of what she’d experienced glowed like an ember in her heart. She could never forget what she’d done—never go back. She couldn’t predict when the fire might return.
If she wanted…she might find a way to have him again.
And again. And again.
She unclenched her fingers from the edges of the blanket and slid them over her breasts, then down to rest uneasily at her side.
A knocking sounded on her door.
“What is it?”
A man’s voice said, “You requested muffins My Lady.”
Meluscia sat up and
put her cloak on over her satin gown, then moved to her window seat and sat down. “Come in.”
The door opened. One of the guards stepped into the room, followed by Praseme, holding a large basket in her hands.
“My Lady,” said Praseme, bowing her head. “Where would you like these?”
An ugly sense of shame stirred inside Meluscia.
“You can leave them there, by the door. Thank you.”
Praseme nodded and set the basket down. As Meluscia watched her turn to the door to leave, she suddenly had the urge to stop her and bring her near.
Praseme disappeared through the door, and the guard turned to make his exit.
“Wait,” said Meluscia. “Guard, would you bring the girl back, then leave us. I wish to speak to her.”
The guard nodded and called down the hall.
Meluscia didn’t fully know why she’d called Praseme back. Did it have to do with her guilt and the need to cleanse herself in some way?
The young servant woman re-entered the room, her face betraying her discomfort. Quietly, the guard closed the door as Praseme stood there awkwardly.
Meluscia searched her thoughts for what it was she wanted to say. What was she trying to accomplish? Surely, her guilt could inspire some reparation for her to give the young woman.
“I want to apologize to you,” said Meluscia.
Praseme looked surprised. “For what?”
“For dragging you out of your bed to make muffins.”
A shrug lifted Praseme’s shoulders and her eyes lit warmly. “You needn’t apologize. I am honored! Mairena told me you requested me by name. I’ve never felt so privileged in all my years of service.”
Privileged? Why did she have to be so sickeningly sweet?
Meluscia didn’t dislike or hate this woman, but she envied her. Was, in a way, jealous of her life, and coveted what she had. In some ways, Praseme was to her a soulless body she could fantasize living in, a caricature she could exploit without shame.
But Praseme was a real woman. Soft, humble. Beautiful.
“Please, sit down.” Meluscia gestured toward the other chair at the table where two old tomes from the Scriptorium lay covered by a black cloth. Praseme obeyed and sat, though the look on her face was one of concern.
Meluscia left her there and went to the basket of muffins and picked two.
“Here,” she said, handing Praseme one. “Enjoy.”
Praseme looked uncomfortably at the food in her hand and then at Meluscia. Clumsily, she took a bite of the muffin, cupping her hands under it as crumbs began falling on the table.
A tiny smile slipped across Meluscia’s face. She took a bite of the pastry in her hand. “Your muffins are delicious.”
“Thank you,” said Praseme, finishing another bite. Her eyes darted up to the beam of sunlight stretching over their heads. “I know it is not my place to ask, but Mairena, Prehn, and I were wondering what you were going to do with all those muffins?”
The number of muffins was arbitrary, Praseme. I only wanted to keep you busy long enough to slip into your bed.
Meluscia stared at Praseme. The girl’s friendly eyes gleamed into her like sunlight. What could she say?
“What did you think I would do with them?” asked Meluscia, returning the question.
Praseme blushed. “Well, Mairena and I made jokes about that last night. But only because we didn’t know what you wanted them for.”
“Tell me your jokes,” pressed Meluscia.
Praseme looked like she wanted to flee from the room. “Alright, but please don’t be cross, My Lady. We were only joking amongst ourselves. Mairena fancied that you were giving them to a secret admirer. And that once they were delivered to your room, you would write out letters in frosting on each muffin and have them sent to your sweetheart with your message.” Praseme frowned. “I’m sorry. That sounded funnier last night.”
Meluscia swatted her hand at the air, as if batting away her apology. This was the girl she knew from the spies’ passage. Kind and silly. Always light-hearted. It was fascinating, having her so close, experiencing directly the personality she’d grown to know from a distance. Though Meluscia felt a sense of guilt, she was surprised at how little it bothered her.
“What did you think I’d do after eating all the muffins?” asked Meluscia.
Praseme’s face reddened again, but this time, a smirk twisted on her lips. “Again, you promise not to be cross?”
“I promise,” said Meluscia.
“I told Mairena you’d eat all the muffins yourself and gain a finger width to your bust size.”
Meluscia blushed slightly. “What did you mean by that?” she asked quickly.
“You’re too good to us,” said Praseme. “Giving your meals away to the servants so often. I told Mairena the Makers would bless this one little indulgence by allowing the extra muffin girth to settle upon your bosom. I, of course, waited to tell Mairena my jest until after Prehn went to the orchard to pick more apples. Not something to say around a teenage boy.”
Meluscia smiled. She was torn, whether to embrace this endearing girl, or to allow her jealousy to continue on, protecting the new brazen woman she felt growing inside herself.
Another knock sounded on the door.
“Who is it?” said Meluscia.
“It is Heulan, I have urgent news.”
“Come in.”
Heulan looked flustered as he entered the room, his furrowed brow fading into his smooth, bald scalp. Praseme rose from her seat, as if making to leave, but Meluscia put her hand on her shoulder, staying her. “What’s happened?” said Meluscia.
“First,” said Heulan, “your sister arrived at the Hold early this morning, just before dawn. She was badly injured. A band of Nightmares came upon her and Captain Osiiun somewhere between the Opal Gorge and Hearth’s Scat. Savarah was nearly bled dry by a wound on her shoulder. Osiiun was killed in the fighting.”
The news rattled Meluscia, her mind racing from the trivial to the sharp edge of the military implications in Heulan’s words.
Never had a Nightmare raiding party ventured that far into the Blue Mountains. Only the occasional lone monster, like the one who’d broken into her father’s paddock. And, even then, a lone Nightmare had never gotten as far as the Hold. Not once, not since the time of Isolaug’s taking of the Star Garden Realm. And the raiding parties rarely went further than the borderlands, where the wilds met the woods and the mountain foothills descended into the desert wastes.
“Where is Savarah?”
“She is with the physicker in the Sparrow’s Grotto. She is doing well. She stopped the bleeding with Osiiun’s riding pants tightly bound around her shoulder. The physicker was surprised she didn’t lose consciousness on the long jarring ride. But then, it is Savarah,” he said with a comforting smile. “Your sister was never one to regard pain.”
Meluscia’s hand fell from Praseme’s shoulder. “I must see her.”
Heulan nodded. “There is one more thing I must tell you. When your father heard of the attack just moments ago, he bid me to give you a message from him.”
Meluscia steadied herself. Did her father have some further insult, something to obliterate her dreams with finality, though they were already ground to dust?
“He has received a request from King Feaor, asking for another chance at peaceful negotiation. In the letter, King Feaor requested you by name. Your father wants me to relay to you that he has not made his decision yet on who should succeed him as Luminary. In the meantime, he wants you to lead the delegation to negotiate with King Feaor.”
Meluscia’s legs went numb. She fell to her knees, reaching out and gripping the table beside her. The news felt impossible. Her letter! Her father—he reconsidered his decision!
Her heart leaped.
It was as if an earthquake had torn a rift through her despair, and all that she’d hoped might come to be was again possible.
“Thank you, Father!” she gasped under her breath.<
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“You can tell him yourself,” said Heulan, his eyes warm and full of pride. “He wishes to see you. Your delegation is to leave at once. Before nightfall.”
Meluscia sprang to her feet, lighter than she’d ever been. Like she had birds’ wings lifting her from the ground. There was little time to prepare, but she embraced the challenge.
“Your father hopes to hold on until your return from your trip to the Verdlands,” said Heulan. “To make his decision.”
To make his decision? It was just as she hoped!
Meluscia raised her chin. “I will not disappoint him.”
She turned to Praseme. “I want you to prepare food supplies for the journey. Recruit as many servants as you need to have the supplies ready by noon. They are to follow your orders.” She continued without forethought, surprising herself. “There will be only six of us going. You will be one of them.”
“Me?” exclaimed Praseme. Her hand went to her belly, which revealed nothing in her loose fitted servant’s garb. As of yet, she and Mica hadn’t revealed their secret to anyone. Would she now?
“Prepare enough food for fifteen days. I know your husband is one of the horse masters at the stables. Have him choose the best pack mules for our journey. Will it burden you to be gone from him for long?”