Soul of Cinder

by Bree Barton

  “Kaara akutha. You are most welcome here. I am so sorry for all you have suffered.”

  “Mumma, you’re doing that thing you do,” Nell chided, drying her tears on her sleeve. “You’ve only just met and now you’re going to scare them off with your mind reading!”

  We have suffered, Mia wanted to say, but Pilar beat her to the punch.

  “She’s not wrong.”

  “It doesn’t matter if she’s right, it’s still a creepy thing to do.”

  In the Shadowess’s eyes, Mia saw a gentleness that moved her. So different from the way her own mother had averted her eyes.

  “I’ve come to see suffering as a kind of shadow,” the Shadowess said. “It’s fluid and ever changing, and it can reveal things to us we never would have seen if there were only light. But if we honor the work it’s doing, if we work with it instead of against it, the shadow will lift.”

  “Sounds like just the kind of thing the Shadowess would say,” Pilar said.

  Mia winced. Did Pil have to scoff at everything?

  But the Shadowess only smiled.

  “Please,” she said. “Call me Muri.”

  The next hour passed in a dizzying blur. There were people to meet, cheeks to be kissed.

  “We must feed you,” Muri said after a while. “You’ve come a long way.”

  “Allow me.” Stone smiled brightly. “Food is my specialty.”

  Nell’s brother led them to an impressive array of steaming dishes. He went down the line, lifting lids and proudly displaying plate after plate of foods Mia had never seen. Plump little fingers of sticky banana leaves. Thick fava bean soup sprinkled with cumin and dolloped with joguhr cream. Ovals of fried cheese—haloom, Stone told her—melted over roasted onions. Flaky pink pastries stuffed with sautéed spinach. Braised piglum on a bed of soft yellow grains.

  “Try the lamb tajin,” Stone said, opening an orange clay pot to reveal, with great pride, a salmagundi of pulped brown meat indistinguishable from pulped brown dates. “It’s a Pembuka specialty. It simmers for hours. Doesn’t look like much, but the flavors are amazing.”

  “I’ll bet they are,” Pilar muttered under her breath.

  As they piled food onto their plates, Mia studied Pilar. Even holding a serving spoon, she maintained a defensive posture, shoulders tensed as if she might need to wield the spoon as a weapon. You’re safe here, Mia wanted to say. Though in truth she couldn’t provide a rational explanation for why she knew they were safe. She just knew.

  Everyone in the Swallow wanted to meet them. As they supped—Mia politely, Pilar greasily, Nell somewhere in between—they were inundated with residents. Some knew Nelladine already, though most did not. Muri sat beside them, graciously offering little personal tidbits to accompany the introductions. “Evange is a brilliant scientist who’s here studying volqanoes.” “Harith is a wonderful father to two little girls.”

  In the moments the Shadowess wasn’t extolling her residents, she turned her loving attention to Nelladine. Touched her back, squeezed her hand, said how good it was to have her home.

  Every time Muri looked at her daughter, a scalding jealousy rose in Mia’s throat. She would never see her mother again. Wynna lay crushed under a mountain of snow, along with Queen Freyja, the wife she had chosen, and Angelyne, the other daughter she had left behind.

  At least, Mia thought bitterly, her sister and mother had been buried together.

  Something the Shadowess said to Nell nagged at her. I thought you were lost to us. That you had gone to Prisma and I would never see you again. On the boat Nell had rebuked the poor souls who journeyed to the Isle of Forgetting, choosing to leave their histories behind them. Why would Nell’s own mother think Nell wanted that fate? And why would she, when in real life she had a family like this?

  Mia wanted to be happy for her friend. She cared about Nell. Cared for her. Which of course made it worse when resentment pooled in her belly.

  She wanted to feel things again . . . but not like this.

  She snuck another glance at Pilar. While Mia had succumbed to the barrage of cheek kisses, Pil had managed to evade them. She was drawing into herself, adding bricks to the wall she’d spent weeks erecting. Mia felt pulled toward her sister, desperate to build a bridge between them, and at the same time hurt that Pilar had no apparent interest in building that bridge.

  Can’t you see I’m suffering, too? Mia wanted to say. I’m just better at pretending.

  “Mia?” Nell’s excited voice interrupted her thoughts. “Pilar? How are you two doing, are you all right, are you surviving?”

  The Shadowess had stood and moved a few paces from the table; Stone, too. They were redirecting the steady stream of residents to give their new arrivals a moment of peace.

  “Not going to lie,” Pilar said. “This is a lot.”

  Nell nodded vigorously. “It’s a lot even for me, and I live here! Well, lived here. Takes some getting used to, sometimes you need a little breathing room, did you see how happy my mother was to see me? I didn’t know if she’d be angry or pleased. And my brother is so grown-up! He’s just perfect, I really thought they would have expanded the Swallow by now or at least put in new tables.”

  Nell spoke at an even faster clip than usual, her mind jouncing from one idea to the next. Mia had a little trouble keeping up.

  Pilar licked her spoon, clanking it back into the bowl.

  “Why didn’t you tell us the Shadowess was your mother?”

  “Would you have come so willingly? If you don’t mind me saying, you both have rather complicated relationships with your mothers!”

  “Last I checked, you were the one who ditched your mother and ran away from home.”

  “Pilar,” Mia scolded, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “What? You were thinking it, too.”

  She had been thinking it. Sometimes Mia wished she could be blunt like Pilar, flinging words with wild abandon, not caring how they landed, or whom they hurt.

  Pilar was right. Nell had been evasive about the Shadowess, the House of Shadows—all of it. Even if she hadn’t actually lied, she had withheld the truth.

  But the most baffling thing was how everyone seemed so warm and welcoming, Nell’s family most of all. Her brother loved her. Her mother loved her. Nell had everything Mia wanted.

  Why in four hells had she thrown it all away?

  “Look,” Nell sighed. “I didn’t want you to think I was running home to my mumma and dragging you along for the ride. I knew you wouldn’t take her seriously, you wouldn’t have understood that the Shadowess is so much more than just my mother. She can help you.”

  “Help us what?”

  To Mia’s surprise, it was her own voice asking the question.

  “It’s easier to show than tell. Let me take you through the House, you can see some of the things people are doing here, some of the ways this place offers healing to those who seek it. The Creation Studio, the Curatorium—there are so many wonders here, things you couldn’t possibly imagine. And I’ll introduce you to Pappa! He calls himself Lord Shadowess, quite the joker, he’s never minded playing second fiddle to Mumma. I’ll get you all set up in your rooms, too, we call them sfeeras. Just think how nice it will be to have your own room!”

  She gave Mia’s hand a squeeze. “And we can talk to Mumma about the elixirs, see what new remedies the House has cooked up, and I know, I feel it in my bones now that we’re here, now that I’m back, we’re going to be able to help you feel things again, Mia, all the things. We’re going to bring you back to life.”

  Mia blinked. There she was, seething with bitterness, while Nelladine was trying to help her. Nell had done nothing but try to help her since the moment they met. Mia, normally so good at helping people herself, hadn’t once been able to reciprocate.

  And then a new disquieting truth leached into her mind.

  Mia had hung every hope on the magical elixir. Now, in Pembuk, things were beginning to shift: a taste here, a scent there.r />
  But along with these sensations came feelings far less pleasant. Mia missed her mother. She was wildly homesick for the home she no longer had. She felt poisoned with envy over everything Nell had, and sad for Pilar—frustrated she couldn’t reach her, and increasingly angry that what she was doing wasn’t working, that her sister wasn’t responding in the right way. She felt guilt-ridden for leaving Quin and Angie to die alone in an avalanche. Or perhaps the guilt was really shame: she hadn’t been able to save them. She had failed to save the people she loved most.

  Mia was not ignorant enough to think all feelings could be sorted neatly into boxes, as much as she wished that were the case. But she’d been so fixated on restoring her mind and body to its prior state, she’d forgotten the ways that prior state had failed her. What if, even after she could taste things, smell things, feel things . . . what if she was still broken?

  What if it was better to be numb?

  “Rose.”

  She swiveled in her chair. Pilar’s eyes bored into hers.

  “We need to talk.”

  Chapter 12

  Dirty Little Secret

  PILAR STOOD WITH FEET planted. Arms crossed. Staring at Mia without a clue where to begin. Did the girl have no instinct for self-preservation?

  “Please tell me you’re not seriously considering this, Rose.”

  “Considering what?”

  “Staying here! Going off with Nell to the Curatorium or whatever. Shacking up in a smeera.”

  “Sfeera.”

  “We’ve been here an hour. Don’t act like you’ve got it all figured out.” Pilar shook her hair out of her eyes. “Nell hasn’t been honest with us. Why should we trust her? Why should we trust any of them?”

  “Why shouldn’t we? They’ve fed us and given us a warm welcome. They’re inviting us to be part of their community.” Mia’s face changed. Sympathy slid over annoyance. “Of course I completely understand why you’d feel leery, trusting a community of people, after what—”

  Pilar smacked her forehead.

  “Not everything is about the cottage, Rose! I don’t need to be stabbed in the back to know not to waltz into a magical floating castle assuming everyone is my dearest friend.”

  Mia blinked. Blinked again. Pilar could tell she was dying to say some Sharp Words. But because Rose was Rose, she was currently buffing out the sharp edges to make them the Right Words.

  “Just say it. You’ve been walking on eggshells around me for weeks.”

  Mia exhaled through her teeth.

  “I don’t know what to say to you, Pilar. I want you to be able to talk to me about what happened.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Then I don’t know how to help you.”

  “I thought we were going to help each other.”

  “Well, that certainly hasn’t happened. You’ve done nothing but push me away.”

  Pilar’s stomach churned. She couldn’t argue. Yes, she’d pushed Mia away. But only so Mia wouldn’t push her away first.

  “Do you know how painful it is that I’m starting to feel things again . . . and you don’t even care?” Mia’s voice was small. “You said you’d fight for me.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing. Did you see the rose in the garden?” Pilar hated how pitiful she sounded. How desperate.

  “I saw Nell bring them to life.”

  “Not the one she touched. It died.”

  She could tell Mia didn’t believe her. And just like that, Pilar was back on Refúj. Stunned by Morígna’s words.

  There will always be girls so starved for attention they must lie to get it.

  “Just go,” Pilar growled. “Run after Nell. Get your precious elixir.”

  Mia’s gray eyes glittered. “I don’t know if you’re angry with me or if you just don’t care. I’m not sure which is worse.” She straightened. “But they’ve invited us to stay. You can come or not; it’s up to you. If there’s one thing I know about you, Pilar, it’s that you’ll do what you want anyway, regardless of what I say.”

  She turned on her heel and marched back across the Swallow. Said something to Nelladine, who glanced over her shoulder, concerned. If Pilar had to suffer one more look like that from either of them, she’d stab her own eyes out with a fork.

  What now? She had met the Shadowess. After that, she’d made no promises. Should she leave? Desperation welled up inside her. Where would she even go? She had nothing, no one.

  Mia wasn’t wrong: they had been warmly welcomed. Why couldn’t Pilar just accept it?

  Across the room, Celeste drifted into the Swallow. She greeted the Shadowess, kissing her on the right cheek, then the left. Greeted Mia the same way. Why all the kissing? What was wrong with a simple handshake?

  Keeper or not, that woman made her uneasy. Pilar watched as Celeste offered Mia a plate of red sweets. When Mia shook her head, Celeste laughed, seized a fork, and thrust three sweets onto her plate anyway.

  Funny how quickly “welcoming” could become “aggressive.”

  “Pilar?”

  Nell’s little brother had snuck up behind her. Impressive. No one snuck up on Pilar d’Aqila.

  “Can I ask you something?” Stone said.

  “You just did. First lesson of asking: don’t ask for permission first.”

  He looked sheepish. “Can I ask you something else, then?”

  “Let me guess. You want me to spar with you.”

  “How did you—”

  “Because I’ve known you less than an hour and that’s been eighty percent of our conversation.”

  “Well?” His eyes implored her. “Will you?”

  “I won’t be here long enough to spar with anyone.”

  “Oh.” His face fell. “Because I was going to show you the Gymnasia, my favorite place in the whole House. Where are you going?”

  “Not your concern.”

  “My sister said you came from Valavïk.”

  “Accurate.”

  “But you can’t go back there. It’s been destroyed.”

  “I saw it, remember? We barely got out alive.”

  “All four kingdoms are falling apart. The ice is melting in the snow kingdom, forest fires all over the river kingdom. Even the desert here in Pembuk has begun to shift, whole buildings sinking a foot or two into the sand. And the big volqano in Fojo Karação erupted last month.”

  Pilar tried to keep her face still. To not let this news affect her. But Stone was too quick.

  “You’re from Fojo, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not my home anymore.”

  “Soon it won’t be anyone’s. They say the volqano took out half the big island, and it’s been spewing ash on the smaller islands, too. Some people were able to evacuate. Others weren’t.”

  All those islands. All those people. Pilar imagined families fleeing, grabbing whatever they could carry, piling into boats. She heard children screaming as they left their beloved animals behind. Their parents just as scared, but putting on brave faces as burning ash rained down.

  For the first time, Pilar realized a part of her had been holding on to the idea of returning to Fojo. Not to Refúj. She would never set foot in that place again. But there were hundreds of islands in the fire kingdom.

  Now she saw them as graveyards. Her fellow Fojuen crushed by volqanic debris. Left to starve on the ocean. Their bodies sinking to the bottom of the Salted Sea, taking with them the only home Pilar had ever known.

  She willed the tears out of her eyes. She refused to cry in front of this boy.

  “We’ve been getting refugees for weeks,” Stone went on, “from Fojo and Luumia. The Glasddiran refugees have been coming a lot longer—running first from the old king, then from the new queen. Mumma says all those who come to Manuba Vivuli are those who belong. But a lot of the refugees don’t stay very long.”

  “Really.” She was glad to have something to talk about besides Fojo.

  “They’re just passing through on the w
ay to Prisma.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “To get torn apart by a glass terror?”

  He cocked a brow. “Who told you that? Glass terrors don’t tear you apart. They give you the life you always wanted.”

  “Terrific,” Pilar muttered. Add one more lie to Nell’s pile.

  “Not necessarily terrific,” he said, misunderstanding. “There’s a lot of controversy in the House about how much of your real life you have to give up. Some people here embrace Prisma, but most believe it’s a kind of self-annihilation. No one’s ever come back, so it’s hard to know for sure.”

  “If no one’s ever come back,” Pilar said, “then how do you know anything?”

  “The ancient mystics knew plenty. They saw the Isle of Forgetting in visions, dreams. Now that more and more people are choosing to forget, some believe the end of human history is at hand.”

  Stone lowered his voice.

  “I’ve heard rumors of what happened in Valavïk. One of the Luumi refugees said an evil old man was working for the Snow Queen and unleashed some kind of magical dragon that breathed fire on all the ice and melted it, then flew over the other kingdoms, which is why there are fires in Glas Ddir and also why the volqano erupted in Fojo.”

  Pilar snorted.

  “That’s the fantasy version. No dragons in real life. An evil old man using stolen magic, yes, but in the end he was just a pawn. It’s the cute freckled ones you have to watch out for.”

  “Like Mia?”

  She frowned. “No. Not Mia.”

  Pilar looked back at the table. Mia, Nell, Celeste, and the Shadowess were gone.

  Her breath hitched. Why did she care? Hadn’t she told Rose to go? Pilar hated how she’d become one giant contradiction. She craved Mia’s attention, then spurned it. She wanted community, then rejected the one she’d walked into.

  “Fine.” Pilar cracked her knuckles. “You win.”

  Stone looked confused. “Win what?”

  “Take me to the Gymnasia.”

  “Right now?”

  “You really do ask a lot of questions.”

  He grinned slyly. “And look at that. It worked.”

  The Gymnasia was not a short walk. As Stone led Pilar down one hall after another, she began to suspect him of taking the long way around.