by Sara Wolf
“You don’t have to be alone anymore, Zera,” he says clearly, his words ringing down like rain. My unheart throbs with a spear of pain.
always alone, the hunger snarls. relying on others is a fantasy. a lie. unsafe.
Yorl adjusts his glasses and starts walking away in defiance of the commotion, toward the road to the palace. I take one step after him, and Lucien’s shout is molten iron.
“If you leave with him, there is no going back. No matter how much I despise the idea of it, if you walk away with him now, you will become my enemy.”
Enemy. Not just a traitor but an enemy?
we have always been your enemy, little prince. The hunger laughs riotously, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world, even as my unheart is breaking. An enemy of Lucien’s, once and for all. It’s the last thing I ever wanted, but here, now, I realize it’s what must be done. It’s what I should’ve done, that night in the clearing.
My unheart screams to trust him. I want to more than anything. To accept his tempting offer, to believe in the idea that he wants to help me. That Fione and Malachite have forgiven me. But I know better. Forgiveness isn’t that quick. It isn’t that easy. I haven’t even forgiven myself for killing fourteen men, for the five men when I was turned three years ago. But forgiveness looms so small in the face of reality.
I won’t be anyone’s thrall, ever again. Not his. Not anyone’s. I’m so afraid of losing the hunger, but I’m more afraid of being a monster again. Someone else’s monster. Two sides of my unheart war with each other in the span of a second.
He is Lucien—the kindest, noblest boy I know.
He is a witch.
He could be my witch. He could give me my heart back once and for all if I became his. If I am his, he could command me to do anything he wanted. He could command me to stay with him when I don’t want to. He could command me to believe his every word. To smile, to kiss him. He could starve me, force me to fight.
he is a witch, the hunger laughs. and magic is a terrible temptation.
My heart. My heart.
I want to trust him. But I can’t.
I’ve learned the hardest way that I can’t trust anyone but myself with my freedom.
I look up at him, the wind whipping my hair around my face, and smile with the last tears I will ever shed for him. For me.
“Af-balfera,” I say. “Ansenme kei-inora.”
24
The Heart
and the Bone
Walking away from the bridge in that moment is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder than leaving Crav and Peligli. Harder than walking into the palace when I was introduced to the court for the first time. Harder than parting from Y’shennria for the last time. My legs are ballasted with granite, marble, the heaviest stones in the world slowing me down, pulling me back.
I put one boot in front of the other until the cobblestone of the bridge fades and the gravel of the palace replaces it.
A normal girl, an innocent girl, would cry inconsolably after leaving behind the only person she’s ever loved. But me? My eyes are dry after just two tears.
I am used to leaving people behind by now.
you are better off alone.
I walk up the palace steps and down the hall to Varia’s apartments, my chin held high. The palace is in disarray, the guards sprawling around every corner in some attempt to prepare the palace for a valkerax attack. Yorl and I approach the Serpent Wing just as someone is coming out—someone in a high-backed red velvet dress and her mousy curls in a single braid.
Fione turns from closing the doors and our eyes meet. She approaches like a true archduchess of Cavanos—her back ramrod straight and her face perfectly neutral.
“Lady Zera.” She inclines her head. There’s no fear in her, not of the valkerax, or of me—or at least none that I can see. She’s either learning to hide it or ignoring it. I make a full bow—the last one I’ll probably ever have to make, to any noble, ever again, under this beautiful white marble ceiling. All of Y’shennria’s training goes into it.
“Your Grace,” I say. “You’re looking ravishing, as usual. Did you get new makeup, or is it all that unconditional love? I must admit, I’m a little jealous.”
Fione doesn’t answer me, preferring to nod at Yorl instead. The celeon in turn makes a cursory bow appropriate as a commoner. She finally focuses her cornflower blue eyes back at me.
“You’re here,” she says softly. “Which means you refused Lucien’s offer.”
My heart is just on the other side of that door, behind her, so close I swear I can feel it sink in its bag.
“We want to help you, Lady Zera,” she insists, murmuring softly. “Being what you are is a hard thing; I realize that now. All three of us—Lucien and Malachite and I—want to help you.”
I laugh under my breath. “And what, pray tell, can you do to help me?” I walk up to her, whispering over her shoulder so the guards can’t hear. My denial bubbles up, hot and strong. “You’re not witches. A witch is the only person who can help me now. One specific witch, to be exact. And you happen to be courting her.”
“There’s a way,” Fione insists. “Lucien is—”
“Lucien,” I interrupt her, “is a deluded fool. C’mon, Fione. We both know you’re smarter than to follow fools.”
Fione pulls away from me, her face riddled with shock. “He’s done nothing but think about you this whole time, and you call him a fool? What’s—” She looks me up and down. “What’s happened to you?”
I smile at her. “Haven’t you heard? I’m heartless.”
The irony sends me into a fit of despairing giggles. Fione looks frozen, unmoving even down to the slightest blink, and a tendril of guilt worms through my hard ice wall. She was so afraid of me, and yet despite all that, she’s offering her help.
One last time won’t hurt.
I know Varia hasn’t lifted the command, even at Lucien’s insistence. She loves Fione too much to do that. I move toward the archduchess, slowly, and she doesn’t move away. As gently as I can, I wrap my arms around her shoulders. An embrace. One last time. She smells like a hundred clover flowers soaking in the sun. But beneath that is some other scent—barely noticeable but just metallic enough. White mercury. I shake my head—it doesn’t matter.
“Thank you,” I whisper into her hair. “For trying.”
Her body is stiff, but when she hears the words, she relaxes ever so slightly. I pull away and walk past her, Yorl leading me into Varia’s apartments. The command regarding Fione is starting to take hold, but I rein it in as much as I can.
“Zera!”
I pause at the sound of Fione’s voice calling my name. But she’s behind me. All of it is behind me now.
“Are you sure,” I say without looking back, “that you want to call your enemy by her first name?”
The silence is thunderous. When it lingers too long, I push into the doors of Varia’s room and close them behind me.
…
Varia stands from the couch instantly when we walk in, her silver silk dress pooling around her like a waterfall. “You’re late.”
“Or perhaps you’re just five years too early.” I smile at her, the command twisting my limbs into a rigor. “Take back the command on me about Fione.”
Her brow raises. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t command the Bone Tree location out of me.” I raise my voice. “So take back. The command on me. About Fione.”
Her eyes snap to Yorl and, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she looks betrayed. Yorl merely keeps his usual cool expression behind his glasses, and just as my feet begin to march away to a secluded place, I bark at her.
“Now!”
The crown princess doesn’t startle, but she instantly snaps her wooden fingers, the tips of them growing black and dark. Like a dog straining to be let
off a chain, the command runs away, dissipating into nothing more than air as the hunger fades out from behind it, my limbs growing soft again as my body becomes my own. It’s a hollow victory, but when I’ve eaten defeat for so long, it tastes the same as the real thing.
“There,” she says. “Now, enough wasting time. It’s done, Yorl? Truly?”
He nods. “Without a doubt. I saw Evlorasin give her the blood promise myself.”
Varia strides over to me, her heels clacking ferociously on the marble. She comes to a stop inches from my face, her own expression direly serious. Everything about her expression rings so true of Lucien that I’m almost winded.
I’ve chosen her. Over him. I’ve chosen my heart over everything.
Does that make me a monster?
“Where is the Bone Tree?” she asks, soft and yet decisive. I’ve got no reason to hold back on her, not if I want my heart. Her words bring a deluge of thoughts running through my mind unbidden; I can see the Tree again, instant and whole, its surroundings glowing brightly green all around it.
“A jungle,” I say. “Hot and humid and dense. There’s a long river, the longest I’ve ever seen. In the biggest bend of that river, ten spans east. It’s sitting on a rock, waiting for noon.”
For some reason, Yorl laughs a little hearing me say it again—incredulous, maybe. Varia just stares at me, like she’s delving into my eyes for the truth, and when she finds what she’s looking for, she swears.
“Gods almighty.”
I watch the crown princess of Cavanos teeter for the first time, uncertain and unsteady. She stumbles, clutching the back of the couch to brace herself. The shock of accomplishing what she’s been after all these years—what she faked her death for, what she has nightmares of, what she killed her bodyguards for, what she tortured a valkerax for, what she became a witch for—must be crushing.
“Most probably the jungles of Gutroth,” Yorl offers from the corner of the window he’s staring out. “And the Golden River.”
“We can’t go there today.” Varia regains herself admirably quickly and whirls sharply around to him.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s too far a journey to make by noon, even for a teleport spell.”
“Then I wait,” she asserts. “I wait for the Tree to go somewhere near Cavanos, and I leave the instant it arrives there.”
“Agreed.” Yorl nods. “The paperwork you promised me—”
“Patience, Yorl,” she insists. “You’ve been waiting for five years. Surely you can wait for another few hours.”
“I’ve enjoyed our time together as much as you have,” Yorl snarks. “But my grandfather’s legacy has waited fifty years—it cannot wait another moment more.”
“When I get the Bone Tree,” Varia recites. “That was our agreement. No sooner and no later.”
Yorl lets out a feral snarl. “I gave you what you wanted! I gave you everything I promised, down to the letter. I did the impossible—I did what no polymath in a thousand years has been able to do, and I deserve what is mine!”
“Settle. Down.” Varia’s voice is cold. “Or I’ll have Zera here settle you down for me.”
She could do it—and I know that better than anyone. I’d have no choice but to lash out at him. I flash an apologetic smile at Yorl, who’s suddenly looking at me warily. He spits what sounds like a swear and folds his arms across his chest.
The waiting is always the worst part.
I learned this in Nightsinger’s woods, waiting for something to happen for three years. The nothingness drives you mad eventually, the way it did to me—talking to animals and trees and constantly throwing jokes to entertain myself in the dead air of the forest. Varia spends the time packing some clothes and other essentials into bags: parchment, quills, candles, dried food. Where has she been keeping these supplies tucked away in her room? She’s packing like she’s never coming back.
“Is your wife not joining us when we leave?” I ask lightly.
Varia looks up sharply at me, then snorts. “No. She’s staying here in Vetris, where it’s safe.”
“And your father?” I run my finger along a dusty vase. “How does he feel about you becoming the most powerful person in the world? Have you asked him? Or is it just a given that he won’t mind, as long as you’re alive? Does he know how long you’ll be alive for? Does anyone?”
This gets to her. I can see the stitch in her mouth, no matter how desperately she tries to hide it. She’s close to her goal—the one she’s had nightmares about since she was small—and that’s making her sloppy. It would make anyone sloppy.
She pulls my heart, still in its bag, out of her breast coat, and grins like a hungry fox at me. My body goes on point in a split second, every hair standing up on my arms, my skin vibrating with heat and anticipation. My muscles twitch toward the bag, pulled like one of her eerie dolls on a string. I’ve never been more elated to see the word “traitor” in my life. My eyes roam over the stitching on the bag, over the way it thumps gently as my heart beats beneath the cloth.
Mother. Father. Human life. It’s all resting in that tiny bag.
“I still have this,” the crown princess reminds me. “So play nice, would you?”
I glower but say nothing. She might not be able to command me to tell her about the Bone Tree, but neither can I refuse her. We’re at a dangerous impasse, the two of us standing on the same knife’s edge.
It’s an hour that lasts longer than three days. Varia packs, she and Yorl going over details and minutiae. I sit in the only moveable chair in the room—a simple wood thing—positioning it in front of the sandclock on the mantelpiece over the fireplace. I wait one more hour after waiting for three years, watching the sand grains of the clock fall, each golden dot pushing me further from Lucien and closer to my heart.
“Will we be followed?” I hear Yorl ask faintly.
“There’s a possibility,” Varia agrees. “But only by a witch, and only if they’re familiar with my magic.”
“The rogue one in the city that started the witchfire,” Yorl says. “They may know.”
“No. It has to be a more intimate knowing, repeatedly exposed to it—”
I tune them out, my eyes fully focused on the clock but my ears wandering. Outside, through the open windows, I can hear the palace in a quiet uproar. The word “valkerax” drifts up, said with fearful nervousness, as if people are unsure whether merely saying the word will summon it to their doorstep.
Reality starts crashing down around me as the clock’s sand fills the noon slot to brimming. Where will I go? No, I’ve always known where—back to Nightsinger, Crav, and Peligli. Her forest is gone, razed by the human army, which means she has to be at Windonhigh—that witch city Varia mentioned. But how do I get to a witch city, especially one Vetris hasn’t even discovered yet? My only hope is to follow Y’shennria’s letter and visit Ravenshaunt. If I can find her, safe with the witches who are her allies, then surely I can find a way to Windonhigh. It will be hard. But I’ve lived and died through the worst injuries, the worst deaths. I’ve survived—with most of my sanity intact—three years without my heart. I’ll find the people who matter most to me. I’ll find them no matter what.
“Zera.”
Varia says my name shortly, hard and sharp, and I know what she wants. The Bone Tree comes up in my mind differently this time, like a windblown cloud transforming in the sky each time I look at it. The Bone Tree creaks, looming and white and lonely, on top of more white. Snow. The Bone Tree is on a mountain peak, the wind howling bitterly. From the peak, I can see all of Cavanos—the gentle green hills rolling, interrupted only by the charred black swaths where the army has burned the forests. And on the other side of the peak, the Helkyris side, I can see a city farther down, strung between smaller peaks and constructed almost entirely of towers. An intricate web of bridges connects every tower in the city, the abyss yawn
ing below it.
“The Tollmount-Kilstead Mountains,” I say. “One of the peaks. There’s snow, and I can see Cavanos on one side, where the army’s been burning the forests, and on the other side, far below, I can see a city made of towers. The Tree is going to stay there for…” I pause, staring at the Tree in my memory. Somehow, with the blood promise thrumming through me, I just know. “Two hours.”
“Breych,” Yorl says immediately. “The scholar city of Helkyris.” He looks at Varia, green eyes wide. “Your gods favor you.”
“They favor us,” the crown princess insists, pulling on a cape and handing one to me. “Dress warmly and quickly.”
She walks over to a box and unlocks it with a tiny key on a chain around her neck. From inside she pulls out a roll of parchment and hands it to a wide-eyed Yorl.
His paws take the parchment shakily, and he looks up at her.
Varia smiles. “I appreciate everything you did, Yorl. Never forget that.”
His ears perk up and, stowing the parchment away quickly in his robe, he looks to me and nods. “Good luck, Starving Wolf.”
“You, too.” I grin. “Ironspeaker.”
Our true names ring in the room as he leaves, the only remaining fragments of what we’ve been through together. The last I see of him is his yellow-tufted tail disappearing through the doorway.
I pull on the cape, and Varia motions for me to follow her. She stops in front of an oil lantern in her bathroom; to my utter shock, she tilts it forward, and the sound of something clunking into place resounds. A dark trapdoor opens in the slate tiles of the floor, just big enough to let one person through at a time. The tightness of the secret passage reminds me of the one I found in Y’shennria’s manor. Varia wastes no time in climbing down the ladder on the side, and I follow.