“Are you a musician or a dancer?” Feli asks next, squinting at me. “You don’t look like a sculptor, or even a painter. Not with those hands.”
What’s wrong with my hands? I resist the urge to look.
“I’m a dancer.”
Warmth fills my belly after I speak. I am a dancer. They haven’t taken that from me.
Yet.
“Well, I hope you join us,” Feli says. “You’d love it here. We all do.”
“I hope so, too,” I murmur.
After a few more pleasantries, Feli skips away, leaving me to stare after her in disbelief.
“She had no idea,” I say wonderingly. “And she looked right at me. Both times.”
“People see what they expect to see,” Sadra says with a shrug. More softly, she adds, “Your mask is…very good.”
I wince. It is good. Dove trained me well. When people look at me, their eyes slide over my face without seeing it. I’m like a chair, or a boring painting—just part of the background.
“Come on.” Sadra takes my elbow and gives it a squeeze. “We have somewhere to be.”
We hurry now to avoid any more interruptions. Of course Mother Wenla’s study is on the opposite side of the Temple and up three flights of stairs. By the time we arrive, I’m flushed and breathing a bit hard, but perhaps that’s more from anxiety than effort.
The scarred man stands at the window with his head bowed and his hands linked behind his back. When we enter, he turns. The moment his gaze falls on me, it sharpens, lingering on my face and hair.
I look away, unsettled by the attention.
“We’re sorry for the delay,” Sadra says. “It couldn’t be avoided…we ran into Feli again, and you know what she’s like.”
Mother Wenla’s brows lift. “And did she…”
“She had no idea,” Sadra said smugly. “I think when the time comes, we needn’t be too worried about Sasha being recognized.”
“When the time comes for what?” I ask. “Please, somebody tell me what’s going on. I’ve waited long enough.”
“You’re right, you have,” the scarred man says. “You’re called Sasha?”
“Yes,” I say. “It’s short for Aleksandra.”
Something strange passes over his face, but it’s gone so quickly I think I must have imagined it.
“I guess you know that already.” I bite my lip, wondering if I offended him, or if maybe he doesn’t like to be reminded of home. “And, um, what’s your name?”
“I am called Bard.”
“Bard?” My brows draw together in puzzlement. “That’s your name?”
“No,” Bard says, his voice suddenly sharp. “Never mind my name. That man died long ago. I… I have something for you.”
After the briefest of hesitations, he takes my hand and places in it a coiled silver chain pooled around two silver swans. I feel the breath leave my lungs like a trapped bird making for the sky. I sink into a nearby chair, my free hand pressed hard against my chest as if to hold my heart in place.
“You don’t know what this means to me,” I say softly. It’s an effort to speak—my throat has closed so tightly I can barely breathe. “I thought I’d never see it again.”
“If someone else had gotten to you first, you wouldn’t have seen it again,” Bard says. “And we might never have seen you again, if that someone knew what it meant. It was the necklace that let me know you had the potential to overcome the Pall. That you brought something with you from the other side indicates an uncommonly strong…essence, I suppose you could say. It’s not just the strength of your mind, though of course that’s of at least equal importance. When I saw the necklace, I knew you could be saved.”
“What do you mean, ‘the other side’?” I ask. “What is this place? Is it another world? Is it even real?”
Bard sighs. “It feels real, does it not? Your fear is real. Your pain is real. The danger, I promise you, is very real. Reality isn’t something you can measure objectively, Sasha. For our purposes, I think it’s not an important distinction to make.”
He has a point. There’s no way to answer that particular question, so I move on to the next, my voice tight and sharp as I ask, “Who are you? Why are you helping me? I remember you—you were with them. You put me in a cage. You branded me.”
“I did what I could for you without compromising my position,” he says calmly. “I have worked to free many before you, and I hope to free many more, with the Temple’s help. I can’t do that if I am discovered.”
“You sent Sadra to find me.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Mother Wenla did. I knew you would be on the King’s Terrace, but I didn’t know in which household. The Temple knows everything that goes on in the Terrace, and in much of the city.”
I look at Mother Wenla. “So you knew about…all this?”
She nods. “My man and I founded the network we call the Bird’s Path. Together we recruited allies among the Temple initiates, and some select civilians, Truthseers and Healers, mostly, who already suspected something was amiss. My man—”
“Do you mean your husband?” I ask, confused by her phrasing.
She shakes her head. “Temple initiates take no husbands and have no children. But I loved him…and he died. He withered away under the Pall, and I could do nothing to save him. After I lost him, I continued our work, identifying awakened thralls and spiriting them out of the Cities, into the countryside where they could spend the rest of their lives in freedom and relative safety. I found Bard in a gutter some thirty years ago. He was drunk, raving—”
“But she listened,” Bard interrupted. “She believed me when I told her that I had found the Apostate.”
“The—the what?” I look at Sadra, but she looks as confused as I feel.
“The Apostate,” Bard repeats. “Once one of the highest-ranking members of the House, and one of the best Lightcrafters in the kingdom. He was poised to become the youngest Premier in a century at least. But when he discovered the truth about thralls, he rejected everything and disappeared. No one knew where, and only a few knew the real cause of his desertion. But there were rumors…”
“And you followed them,” Sadra prompts when he falls silent.
“Yes. It took me five years, but I found him. He lifted the Pall from me,” Bard says. “As he will from you, if we can get you there in one piece.”
“And where is ‘there’, exactly?” Sadra asks.
“Never you mind,” Bard says, scowling. “We’ve already shared more than we should. If you fell into the House’s hands…”
“Exactly,” Sadra insists. “You always say ‘no one knows more than they need to,’ so why—”
“Sadra,” Mother Wenla interrupts softly and shoots a glance at me. But I’m still absorbing Bard’s words.
“Bard. If you’re still here…” I lose my breath as the implications crash over me. It takes several moments to find my voice again. “There’s no way back, is there? Even if the Pall is taken away, I’ll be trapped here forever.”
“Not…. not necessarily,” Bard says slowly. “I chose to remain here rather than take the risk. Time moves strangely between the worlds. What I saw—years had passed, maybe even decades. My wife had married another man, thinking I was dead. My family was gone. There was nothing left for me there.”
“How did you know that?” My necklace bites into my palm as my hand tightens into a fist. “Did you—did you see things in your sleep? Were you…back there?”
Again, that odd hesitation. “At first, yes. But the dreams became more infrequent as I gained greater control over my mind and body. After the Pall was lifted, the dreams stopped almost completely.”
“Almost completely?” I press. “What did you—”
“Forgive me.” Bard lifts a hand to silence me. “They are painful memories, and private. I’d rather not discuss it further.”
I open my mouth to argue, then settle back in my chair and ask instead, “What do you mean, you c
hose not to take the risk? Is there a chance I could go home?”
“I can’t say,” Bard answers. “It’s—complicated.”
“Well, try,” Sadra says, giving him a hard look. “I’m sure we can keep up.”
Bard shakes his head. “It’s too soon. I won’t burden Sasha with that knowledge. The two of you need to focus on making sure Sasha stays out of the House’s dungeons.”
A chill washes over me. If the House of Light and Shadow has dungeons, it must have the authority to put people in them. But how? Kingsgarden is a monarchy. I would have thought the power to incarcerate people lay with the king and his representatives. I’ve been thinking of the House as a private—and shady—business venture, but maybe its influence is more pervasive than I thought.
“How much power does the House have in Kingsgarden?” I ask. “Is it a part of the King’s government?”
“Not officially,” Mother Wenla says, pursing her lips. “But I cannot deny that it’s influential. Here in the City of Roses, we have a saying about the king’s crown. Have you seen it?” I nod, remembering the wreath of golden flowers glinting against the king’s dark curls. “We say the crown’s blooms have three thorns: The Council, the House of Light and Shadow, and the Temple of Graces.”
“So…a lot of power,” I say, my voice faint.
Dread coils in my belly like a cold chain. I press a fist into my middle and concentrate on keeping my breath even.
Bard hesitates, then takes my free hand. “We will protect you, Sasha. You mustn’t waste your strength on fear. You’ll need all of it to fight the Pall until we can leave.”
I swallow and try to smile. When I can’t manage that, I squeeze his hand and whisper, “When?”
“Not for some time, I’m afraid,” Bard says. “The journey will require extensive preparation. Certain arrangements must be made, and they won’t be complete before winter closes the eastern passes.”
“So… how long?” My voice is stronger now. “A few weeks? A month?”
“More than that,” Bard says gently. “The end of next spring, at the earliest.”
I close my eyes. So long… but how long, exactly? I open my eyes and look at Sadra.
“What…what season is it?”
Sadra shoots me a look of mingled alarm and confusion that quickly shifts to understanding…and pity.
“It’s autumn.” She squeezes my hand. As I grapple with this new information, she turns her attention to Bard and Mother Wenla. “Nine months. Eight, if we’re lucky. What in the name of all that’s beautiful are we supposed to do until then? We can’t just go on as we have, not for that long. Orean will sense my Whispering eventually, and Sasha—you can’t expect her to live like this for three more seasons! This is all wrong—why did you even—”
“Sadra.” Mother Wenla’s voice lashes out like a whip, silencing Sadra’s outburst.
“Can’t I stay here?” I ask at the same time, horrified by the thought of living under Orean’s roof for so long. “I could—”
“No,” Mother Wenla says gently. “The risk is too great. If you should be discovered, we would lose everything.”
“There’s no place in the City—or a village somewhere—”
“The more times you move, the greater the danger,” Bard says. “Right now the safest place for you is with Lady Ismeni. If that changes, we will of course re-evaluate our options. But for now, you’ll have to endure it.”
“Safe!” Sadra explodes. She turns to Mother Wenla. “You saw what Cimari did to her!”
“I did, and I commend Sasha for her bravery,” Mother Wenla says. “Sasha, you’ve convinced the Lady Cimari that she was mistaken, that you are an ordinary thrall. But do you not think it would renew her suspicion if you disappeared now?”
Sadra and I share a sullen glance. Mother Wenla is right. And so tomorrow I’ll return to Ismeni’s service and live for the better part of a year as a soulless, mindless nothing, condemned to live in fear but forbidden to show it.
I shake the thought out of my head. I still have one more question to ask.
“What about Dove?”
At Bard’s look of confusion, Sadra says, “The other thrall—the other woman—serving Ismeni. I told you about her.”
“Ah.” Bard looks at me with pity in his eyes and I know what he’s going to say. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I ask softly. “She’s awake, I know it. If I can be saved, why can’t she?”
“She probably could be,” Bard admits, “if she survived the journey. But I’m afraid that she very likely would not. From what Sadra has told us, it’s a miracle that she’s survived the Pall’s effects as long as she has.”
“Ismeni herself doesn’t expect Dove to live through winter,” Mother Wenla adds. “You were meant to replace her.”
A small sound slips through my lips, part groan and part gasp. “H-how do you know this? Why—”
“Lady Ismeni told me so,” Mother Wenla says. “While we were making the arrangements for your visit. I know it must be difficult to hear, but you must put Dove out of your mind, at least in regard to our plans. You are our priority, Sasha. I hope we can trust you not to take that responsibility lightly.”
“But why?” I ask. “Why am I your priority? What’s so special about me?”
Bard and Mother Wenla exchange a long look.
“Every life we are able to save is special,” Mother Wenla says finally. “Unfortunately, Dove’s is not one of them. I’m sorry.”
I take a breath and stand up. “I think I’d like to go to bed.”
“I’ll show you where.” Sadra stands too and takes my hand. “Goodnight, Mother.”
“Goodnight, my dears,” Mother Wenla says. “Rest well and try not to worry. Tomorrow won’t look so bleak in the sunlight.”
“Thank you for your help,” I murmur, avoiding her eyes.
“It is our honor,” Bard says. “It was…a pleasure to meet you, Sasha.”
I nod and follow Sadra out of Mother Wenla’s study, but I only make it a few steps before I sag against the wall. I lean my head against the cool stone, closing my eyes tightly against the tears that strain against my lids. Nine months! I’ll never make it. I can’t—Sadra pinches my arm and pulls me upright, a hard gleam in her eye.
“No time for that,” she says. “Follow me.”
“What? Where?” I ask, confused by her urgency. “Aren’t we going to bed?”
“Oh, no,” she says grimly. “We’re not going to bed. We’re going out.”
Chassé
“This is so stupid,” I hiss, my feet dangling several feet above an uncomfortably narrow stone wall. “We’re going to get caught, or I’m going to break a leg—or both.”
“We will get caught if you don’t stop whining and get down here.” Sadra perches on the wall easily, staring up at me with her hands on her hips. “Just let go.”
Just let go… As if it’s that easy. As if one mistake, one misstep couldn’t cost me my freedom and my life. But I’ve been afraid for too long. Obedient for too long. I’ve been a thrall for too long.
I screw my eyes shut with a growl and then open them as I release the tree branch I was clinging to. I land on the wall without so much as a wobble and release a slow, steady breath. Sadra smirks at me but nods in approval. I make a broad after you gesture. She rolls her eyes and sets off along the wall, keeping low.
“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing out here?” I ask as I follow.
“He’s broken nearly every rule Mother Wenla taught me,” Sadra says. “The Birds have never operated on the Terrace, and we never try to awaken thralls until just before the extraction is to occur, to prevent exactly what they’re asking of you. It’s cruel—barbaric—to expect a fully conscious, sentient being to endure life as a thrall for so long. And did you see the two of them just before we left? There is something different about you, something special, and I want to know what it is. We won’t get anything more out of Mother Wenla or Bard,
but I think I know someone who can give us some answers.”
“Who?” I ask, trying not to trip over my skirts as we scurry along the wall.
“A fledgling named Maro,” Sadra says.
“A what?”
“We call newly freed thralls fledglings,” Sadra explains. She shoots me a swift grin. “You’re a nestling. As fledglings settle and find their places in the world or within the Bird’s Path, they take on new titles. The Path’s guides are called peregrines, infiltrators like Bard are owls, informants and eyes in the Cities are sparrows. You get the idea. Most fledglings are happy to aid the cause however they can, but some are…not as helpful. Maro falls firmly into the latter category, though I’m hoping that will work to our advantage tonight. He may be more forthcoming with information than a good little Bird would be.”
We travel in silence for some time, our attention fully occupied by the tricky path of the stone wall. After a time, we use a conveniently placed torch sconce to swing down into a deserted alleyway. I shake some clinging debris off my skirts and look around eagerly. Despite the danger, a little prickle of excitement dances across the nape of my neck. For a few hours, at least, I can almost pretend that I’m free.
“This way,” Sadra whispers, and sets off down the alley. “Stay close to me. Oh, and take this. Stick it in your hair.” She hands me a jeweled pin plucked from her own braids, and I slide it into mine. “But be careful—it’s poison. It won’t kill you, but it will hurt more than anything you can imagine and freeze your muscles.”
I wonder if she’ll let me keep it when I return to my life of servitude. How useful it would be to have a weapon like this to protect myself from Orean and Cimari. If either of them touches me again…but no. Even if I had a weapon, I could never use it. I would expose myself, and I would be lost. My only defense is compliance and invisibility.
“You’d better take one of these, too,” Sadra says, pulling off one of her rings. “Flick the catch with your thumb—like so—and blow the powder into your attacker’s face to blind and choke him.”
“How likely is it that I’ll need these?” I ask nervously. My back prickles, remembering the lashes, and I shudder. I’m not at all eager for another encounter with physical violence.
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