by E. E. Holmes
“Strange how?” I asked. “Strange like you think the Caomhnóir might have known about it?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Finn said.
“So, can we even trust them?” I asked. “Are we just sitting ducks now?”
“If we are, there’s not a blasted thing we can do about it,” Finn replied, his expression grim.
For nearly an hour we paced and waited, tense with frustration and fear, jumping at every sound that echoed endlessly through the enormous, empty chamber, utterly unable to tell from which of the dozen doors the sounds had originated. At last, one of the doors swung open and a woman entered, flanked by two guards. She was tiny, both in stature and in manner, a woman who seemed to shrink in upon herself, as though she were constantly trying to take up as little space as possible wherever she happened to be. Her face was delicate looking, almost frail, and yet completely unlined. It was impossible to tell how old she was—she moved like an older woman, and yet her features gave off the glow of youth. Her wispy blonde hair was pulled back in a braid that fell all the way down past her waist, and she was dressed in a long, pale blue silk gown that trailed on the floor behind her like a rippling stream. Even her voice, when she spoke at last, was insubstantial, a breathless tinkling bell of a voice.
“Greetings to you, visitors,” she said, and she opened her arms wide in a forced gesture of welcome before swiftly pulling them in against her chest again. “Welcome to Havre de Gardiennes.”
“Welcome?!” Catriona cried out from where she was still struggling to her feet. “What kind of a welcome do you call this? We’ve been locked up in here for hours without a scrap of news!”
The woman shrank away from Catriona’s words as though they were projectiles being flung at her. She did not reply, but instead waited meekly for the silence before continuing on with her prepared words. “My name is Marguerite de Chastenay. My sister, the High Priestess of the International High Council, has sent me to you on her behalf. I regret that there is no one else from the High Council to receive you, as the Council is not currently in session.”
Catriona showed every indication of a further outburst, but Annabelle lay a restraining hand on her upper arm and this seemed enough to coax her into a grudging silence.
“Simone was most aggrieved to hear of the attack you endured near our outposts, and sends her sympathies for the loss of your companion. She requests that you make known to me the nature of your visit, so that she may prepare to receive you,” Marguerite went on in her bird’s wing flutter of a voice, sounding for all the world as though these were lines she had memorized and rehearsed for the sole purpose of coming here to deliver them to us. Her tiny hands twisted within each other, and her eyes barely left the floor. This was the sister of the High Priestess? This was one of the legendary women of the Clan de Chastenay? She was so… diminished. How could a woman of such consequence seem so completely inconsequential?
It was Ileana who took charge now, stepping forward and mustering what authority she could while still so disheveled from the ambush. “I am Ileana Lovell, High Priestess of the Traveler Clans. I have come a long way to seek an audience with the High Priestess. Never in my life would I have believed that I would be abandoned here, without medical attention or refreshment, for hours on end, like some common criminal. I demand an explanation as to why we have been treated in this manner.”
Marguerite looked positively terrified to respond to a demand for an explanation that she had not been expressly prepared to deliver. She cleared her throat several times before replying. “I… I am sure that my sister will be able to explain everything to you most clearly. Our Caomhnóir have spent the last several hours doing extensive sweeps of the grounds to ensure the castle and all within it are safe. My sister would hold no audiences nor leave her chambers until the Guardians could guarantee her complete safety.”
“And what of our safety?” Catriona asked, her voice breaking once again.
Marguerite made a movement that might have been a shrug before replying, “My sister always proceeds with utmost caution and makes decisions with great care. I am sure, if you have been neglected, it was for very good reason.”
I stepped forward now, gathering what fortitude I had left. “Ms. De Chastenay, my name is Jessica Ballard of the Clan Sassanaigh. Along with Ileana, I’ve brought with me my Caomhnóir Finn Carey; Catriona Harrington, Lead Tracker of the Northern Clans; and Annabelle Rabinski, Dormant of the Traveler Clan Boswell. They have all been instrumental in helping me to reach the gates of Havre de Gardiennes. I’ve come to see your sister the High Priestess, to request an audience with her, so that I might pass along a very important message.”
Marguerite’s eyes widened like marbles and she let out a gasp. “You are the Walker. The Walker of the great Prophecy.”
I cringed internally, but knew there was little point in denying it. “Yes, I am.”
“And what message do you carry for my sister?” Marguerite asked, her delicate features wrinkling with mild curiosity.
“I am deeply sorry, but I cannot say. The message must be conveyed directly to the High Priestess, and as soon as possible. Time is running out.”
“Time for what?” Marguerite asked, her pale blue eyes widening in alarm. Then she shook her head, like she was shaking off a fly, and dropped her gaze to the floor again. “But, of course. How foolish of me. You cannot reveal this either, can you?”
I shook my head. “No, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Marguerite tapped her finger thoughtfully on her chin. “I do not know if my sister will consent to see you without understanding the exact nature of your visit. She is very particular about who she will agree to devote her time to.”
Catriona stepped forward. “Perhaps you could tell her this message is what brought Necromancers out of the shadows and to the very gates of her castle. Perhaps you can tell her that my cousin has just died in the quest to deliver it. That might just convince her of its urgency,” she said, and though I could hear the effort she was making to keep herself calm, her voice was trembling violently.
Marguerite seemed to consider this, nodding thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes, you’d better come with me. I will bring you up to her audience chambers at once. You may have longer to wait once you are there, but you will be more comfortable. If you would please follow me.”
Marguerite turned toward the door through which she had entered a few minutes earlier, and we all crossed the room to follow her. Her two hulking Caomhnóir, who had said not a word since entering with her, now walked behind her, maintaining a barrier of safety between her and us, never allowing us to walk too close to her. Marguerite led us through a long stone tunnel and up a winding staircase into a wide, airy, white marble hallway on the upper level, our way lit by torches and great glowing chandeliers set into the smooth glossy ceilings. There was nothing upon the walls—no tapestries or sculptures or great works of art—just section after section of flawless white marble interspersed with high arched windows through which the mountaintops lay basking in a swath of silvery moonlight. The hallway gave way to a great hall, carved from floor to ceiling in white marble, supported by great curved pillars and lit with dozens of round sunken pits of fire. It felt like something out of a vision of fairyland or some far-off fantasy realm, a place where elves or angels surely dwelt, and even in my fear and anxiety about what was to come, I took a moment to appreciate the unearthly splendor of it all. Havre de Gardiennes was as removed from the real world as a dream. But for all its ethereal beauty there was something remote about it—cold and distant and sterile in its perfection.
We came to a stop in front of a pair of enormous arched doors made of blonde wood and carved elaborately with vines and leaves and flowers. Marguerite gave a gentle nod, and the Caomhnóir stepped forward to push them open so that we could pass through. The chamber beyond was smaller than I expected, given the sheer magnitude of the doors. A thronelike chair stood in the corner on a pedestal, beside the yawning mouth of an enormo
us fireplace in which a fire crackled and popped. Marguerite gestured to several white-cushioned benches with carved golden legs. “I invite you all to wait here while I inform my sister of your intentions. Please do make yourselves comfortable. I will have some tea and sandwiches brought up for you.” With that, Marguerite continued through a second, smaller set of doors and disappeared.
Ileana sank down onto the bench, wincing as she adjusted her arm. Annabelle perched uneasily beside her. Catriona remained on her feet, hovering near the door, her face tense and drawn. Finn, too, seemed incapable of sitting, but chose instead to pace the floor, scrutinizing all the details of the room as though he would shortly be tested upon them. I considered for a brief moment taking the seat on Annabelle’s other side, but thought better of it. After all we had been through that night, I was so emotionally and physically drained that if I dared to sit down, I may not have the strength to get back up.
Finn stopped his pacing long enough to give my hands a quick squeeze. “You all right?” he whispered.
I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I just want to get this over with.”
He nodded solemnly. “I know what you mean. Let’s just have done with it and bugger the consequences, right?”
“Something like that, yeah,” I said.
Two servants entered, each bearing a tray. Even Ileana, who looked down her nose at the offerings as though it were too little too late, was not too proud to snatch a sandwich off the tray and cram it hungrily into her mouth.
The tray and teapot were empty and the fire had burned nearly down to embers when the door swung open again, and Marguerite’s face peered out from around it. “Jessica, my sister has agreed that she will see you,” she said, beckoning me forward.
I heaved a sigh of relief. I heard Ileana mutter, “Thank God.” Everyone else stood up and we proceeded toward the door together, but Marguerite, looking alarmed, stepped back into the room and closed the door behind her, blocking our path.
“You misunderstand me,” she said, flapping her hands nervously at us. “She wants to see Jessica alone. The rest of you are to remain where you are.”
Finn’s entire body stiffened beside me. “Why? Why will she not permit the rest of us to accompany Jess, when we have accompanied her on the entire journey to get here?”
“It is not our place to question the decisions of the High Priestess,” Marguerite said in a sing-song voice, as though she were reciting a rhyme she had known from childhood. “She will have her reasons, and they will be wise in their origins and just in their application.”
Finn looked at me. “What do you think? You don’t have to go in there alone.”
“I think I do,” I said. “Turning back isn’t an option. I have to speak to her, Finn, and if this is the only way she will agree to see me, then this is what I have to do. It will be fine.”
Ileana stepped up beside me, looking defiant. “You have told the High Priestess that I am here, and she still wishes to see only this child?”
I bristled at being called a child but, uncharacteristically, managed to keep my mouth shut about it. Now was not the time to start a petty argument.
Marguerite gave an apologetic shrug of her narrow shoulders. “I have explained who has arrived in your party. She wishes to see Jessica alone.”
Ileana narrowed her eyes at Marguerite, who shrank back from her, and then turned to me. “Here. You’d better take this,” she said, fishing around inside her blouse and extricating the key on the golden chain from within her many shawls. She pulled it over her head and draped it around my neck instead. “You’ll need it to prove to her that what you say is true.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Ileana. Thank you for coming this far with me.”
She did not reply—perhaps it was too much for her to admit the importance of what we had done together even in the face of our intense dislike for each other. Instead, she flared her nostrils at me and gave a single, fierce nod before stepping back and gesturing toward the door, as though suddenly wondering what the hell I was waiting for.
She had a point. What the hell was I waiting for? Agnes’ words echoed in my head.
“Have faith.”
“Faith?!” I had asked her. “What have I got left to have faith in?”
“Yourself,” she had answered. “It’s all we ever have, in the end.”
I stepped forward and forced my face into what I hoped would pass for a calm, determined expression. “Very well. Lead on, please, Marguerite.”
The room was as high as a church and as cold as a tomb. White marble rose in smooth, flawless curves all around me, encircling me, arching high to a domed ceiling with a single circular window set in its top, so that that stars could wink down through it. There were no ornaments. No trinkets. No piles of riches or furs or jewels, as one might expect such a wealthy and powerful figure to surround herself with. There was only a white marble chair on a white marble pedestal in a white marble room. Two Caomhnóir stood on either side of the throne, dressed from head to toe in a uniform of white linen and carrying swords and knives with ivory handles. A young woman in a white linen robe was kneeling in front of the fire, watching the flames intently and immediately sweeping any speck of ash or ember back into the heart of the fire, lest they mar the flawlessly clean floor in front of the hearth. And there, upon the throne, looking like a creature dropped out of a celestial fever dream, was Simone de Chastenay, High Priestess of the International High Council.
At first, it felt as though there must be something wrong with my eyes—perhaps I was dazzled by the gleam of marble and the glint of firelight, but the woman seemed to have an unearthly glow about her, as though she were lit from within. Her features were flawless—wide blue eyes, rose-kissed cheeks, full lips, cascades of golden hair, creamy skin without a hint of blemish, freckle, or imperfection. Her slender hands rested delicately in her silk-clad lap, and the folds of her ivory-colored gown spilled down around her like drifts of freshly fallen snow.
Something was very wrong. She looked no older than me. She had been High Priestess for fifty years.
“Am I truly meeting the infamous Jessica Ballard at last?” Simone de Chastenay asked in a voice like birdsong. “Tales of your exploits in the North have traveled as far as Havre de Gardiennes, as I’m sure you must have guessed.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, High Priestess,” I replied, unsure what kind of deference to show—should I bow? I wasn’t sure I was coordinated enough to curtsey. I settled on a respectful inclination of the head. “And I’m sorry to hear that my reputation precedes me. I assure you, I’d much prefer obscurity to notoriety.”
Simone’s face curved into the suggestion of a smile. “Indeed? In this, the two of us are different, I suppose. I have always enjoyed the spotlight, as it were.”
I tried to smile back, but my face didn’t want to cooperate. “It agrees with you,” I said, though I had not meant to say it out loud.
Simone did not grow angry, however. On the contrary, my candor made her smile still more broadly, revealing rows of perfect, white teeth. “I welcome you to Havre de Gardiennes. Has my sister seen to it that you have all that you require?” She made a limp gesture in Marguerite’s direction, though she did not look at her. Marguerite, who had seemed to diminish even further when entering her sister’s incandescent presence, blushed and bowed so low to the ground that her long braid dragged upon the floor in her eagerness to show deference.
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “She has been very… hospitable.” Now didn’t seem like the right moment to complain about how long we were detained before Marguerite finally came to greet us. I didn’t want to question the way things were done at Havre de Gardiennes so early in our meeting, and anyway, it seemed unlikely that any of that was Marguerite’s fault.
“I was very distressed to hear of the attack you endured at our outposts. I understand a member of your party was killed?” Simone went on, her mouth pulled into a neat little bow of concern that did not qu
ite reach her eyes.
“Yes,” I said, fighting against the audible tremor in my voice. “Yes, she was.”
“My guards inform me that she was one Lucida Worthington, the woman who betrayed the Northern Clans and your own sister to the Necromancers during the time of the Prophecy. I must confess she seems an odd travel companion, let alone a woman over whom you might shed tears.”
I felt myself stiffen. “It’s complicated,” I said. “But just because she made mistakes in her life doesn’t mean I’m happy to see her die. She died saving my life.”
“Mistakes is putting it rather mildly, in my opinion,” Simone said, in a tone that suggested her opinion was nothing to be trifled with. “But I grant you, the circumstances that bind people’s lives together are often complicated. It was my understanding, though, that Lucida Worthington had been locked away in Skye Príosún for her transgressions against the sisterhood.”
“Her cousin had her… removed,” I replied, my heart thumping madly. “She was in danger there.”
Simone arched one perfectly curved eyebrow. “In danger? From whom?”
“The Necromancers. They’ve made several attempts on her life in recent weeks.”
“And yet the Necromancers found her here, hundreds of miles from the príosún. It seems she ought to have stayed where she was.” Simone let out a tinkling laugh—musical and yet, somehow, cold. The sound of it sent a shiver up my back, especially when it was echoed from my other side by Marguerite.
I said nothing, but I did not indulge the laughter with even a hint of a smile.
“You have traveled a long way and endured much to seek an audience with me. You left yourself exposed to danger by taking the open route. Why did you not seek the help of your own High Priestess at Fairhaven to secure safe passage to my gates?” Simone asked.
“I did not tell my High Priestess that I was coming. I told no one outside of my own close group of confidantes,” I said.