Chapter Five
Bray massaged her temples. Her headache had begun to sprout teeth. She gazed down at her notes: precise accounts of each assassination attempt and how they had failed; a list of all the Chisanta who resided in Accord, including their peculiar talents and gifts; and, along the margins, madly dashed ideas not yet tested.
She blew out a frustrated breath. Any one of these plans could have worked, should have worked. But plainly Quade’s supporters possessed gifts that thwarted her efforts, or he had safeguards in place that she didn’t know of. It was like playing chess against an opponent who had an unknown set of pieces.
She grunted and tossed her journal aside. It landed half-on and half-off the bed, then tumbled over the edge. She stretched across the mattress with searching fingers, and found it atop the box of Yarrow’s things.
Don’t, she warned herself. But the thought didn’t stop her. She set the box on the mattress and sifted through its contents, a dull ache in her throat. There was little here: a red scarf that no longer smelt of him, a few notebooks, an old pocket knife. A lady’s handkerchief wrapped around a lock of red hair. Her hair.
She ran her hands over the creamy fabric. His mother’s. It was likely a mistake, but the desire to keep a piece of him on her person came sudden and strong. She carefully bound the hair in a bit of ribbon and replaced it, along with his other trinkets. But the kerchief she slipped into her pocket.
Bray sighed and turned to the window. The university grounds were dark and still. It must be quite late.
Nevertheless, she rose, pulled on her boots, and tucked her notes against her chest. Her problem was a strategic one, and so she would consult a strategist. Ko-Jin spent too much of his time focused on defense and not enough on offense. She meant to remind him of the stakes.
They’d discussed this often since the siege began. Or rather, argued about it, depending on the day. But she was obstinate enough to try again.
She marched out of the Brentis Dormitory and beyond the campus, into Accord proper—her feet taking her to the palace, her mind unfocused. She crossed several patrols, mostly civilian, and nodded her head in brief acknowledgment.
Tents striped the palace grounds. Most of the soldiers encamped here were asleep, so she passed through undisturbed.
A pair of guards at the entrance bowed to her. “Good evening, Mistress Chisanta.”
“Evening,” Bray said. “I’m looking for the general. I assume he’s with the queen?” It was late, but they were likely still awake and dealing with matters of state.
The male guard shook his head. “He took the night off.”
“Night off?” Bray echoed. That didn’t sound much like the over-stressed Ko-Jin she knew. “Any idea where he went?”
The young man shrugged, but the woman nodded. “Saw him head up to the roof a while ago. Don’t think he’s come back down.”
“Thanks,” Bray said, and she headed for the stairway.
The night was chilly and moonless. Bray found Ko-Jin sitting with his legs sprawled straight before him, toes pointed in opposite directions, back against the stony parapet. He wasn’t wearing shoes.
“Hey,” she said tentatively.
He blinked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. Then he hoisted his flask in her direction.
Bray accepted his offering and folded to the ground at his side. She took a swig, shivering at the strength of the spirits, and glanced sidelong at her friend. He was plainly intoxicated, which surprised her. In all the time she’d known him, he’d only ever over-imbibed once—and that was before Quade, before he took on this mantle of responsibility.
“So…” she said, returning his flask.
He guzzled, eyes squeezed closed, and gasped for air when he’d finished. “So,” he said.
Ko-Jin tipped his head to gaze up at the stars, his throat working. She patted the back of his hand, and he snagged her palm in his own and tucked it against his leg, gaze still fixed above.
Bray needn’t ask what was troubling him. She already knew, though they’d never spoken of it. Ko-Jin had—rather unwisely, in her opinion—fallen in love with Chae-Na. The queen had married a month ago. Given that Ko-Jin had an unexpected night off and the sudden urge to binge drink, it was easy to guess whom Chae-Na must be with, and what they must be doing.
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” she said.
He swiveled his head to face her. He looked so beautiful, and so sad. “That we are,” he said, his voice slurred. He smiled suddenly, but it cut strangely across his face. “Pair. Two people. A couple of people.” She wasn’t following him. Her brows raised in question. “You know,” he said slowly, “when we were fresh-marked, I had such a crush on you.”
“Yes,” Bray said. “I remember.”
His laugh rumbled through his chest. “That obvious, was I? Never was terribly slick.” He ran his thumb along her palm, and she had the desire to snatch her hand back, but made herself remain still. He was a friend, after all. “Don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone,” he said in a distant voice. “Isolated. Like no one else knows just how big lonely can feel. But then I see you, and I think—here’s someone who knows.” He swallowed. “You know, I don’t think anyone would blame us, if we took comfort where we could find it. Might be smart to move on.”
He tilted his head towards her, his eyes—still swollen from a recent breakdown—drifting to her lips.
Bray stiffened.
In theory, this might be a tempting offer. He was an absurdly attractive man, and she liked him well enough. More than most.
But it wasn’t tempting. Not at all. She didn’t envision herself moving on. It had never been her plan to fall in love. Yarrow hadn’t come along and filled a vacant spot in her life, he’d carved out that place for himself. And there would be no replacement. She didn’t want one.
Ko-Jin read her reluctance. He released her hand and leaned his weight away from her, his ears turning red. “Sorry,” he said, and then buried his face in his hands. “I’m stupid and drunk, ignore me.”
She bopped her shoulder against his. “You’re not stupid. Drunk, yes, but not stupid. It’s okay.”
He ran his palms down his face, as if he could wipe his misery away. Then he dropped his head to her shoulder. She smoothed his hair, which was silky and thick and a pleasure to touch.
“Guess I just have to accept it. I’m the bloke who doesn’t get the girl. I’ve loved twice, and both times that woman married another man. What do you think that says about me?”
“That you haven’t found the right woman yet. You’re a little young to despair.” She tugged lightly on his braid, and a half-smile wobbled on his lips. “You never know, you might have a bevolder out there waiting for you.” Her voice turned sad at the end, and he angled his face to peek up at her.
His breath smelt of whisky. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Excellent idea. Looked like you got another prophecy today.”
Ko-Jin moved his head from her shoulder to her lap, lying flat on his back and lacing his hands atop his abdomen. He blinked sleepily up at the sky. “Right. That. I’m a bit concerned about that, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Arlow says the attack was a joke. Like, Quade didn’t mean for it to succeed. And at the exact same time he teleported into the city and killed a civilian. Yarrow didn’t mention it until it was already happening. Too late.”
“How is that possible?”
“I dunno,” he said. “But it seems like he’s prodding at our defenses, looking for weaknesses. He might have found one.”
Bray thought she heard a footstep in the shadows, the light pad of a boot. Her head wrenched in that direction and she squinted, but the rooftop was empty save for the two of them. No sound followed.
Stop imagining non-existent threats, and focus on real ones.
She let the back of her head thump against the stone and chewed on her lip. She wished she understood how Fifth prophecies worked. How set was
the future?
“Do you think, perhaps, it’s easier for him to predict attacks that are planned, rather than those that are impromptu?” she speculated.
“I wonder,” he said thickly. His eyes had drifted closed.
She jostled her leg to rouse him. “Hey, wake up. I need to talk to you.”
His face pinched in an annoyed, sleepy expression that made her snicker. “What about?” he groused. “It’s my night off, for Spirits’ sake…”
“No such thing, General. I want you to help me figure out how Quade’s anticipating my attacks. I need a new plan.”
“You need to change the paradigm,” he said, his eyelids fluttering closed again.
“That’s not helpful,” she said, and flicked his temple for good measure. “I brought my notes, I need you to read them and tell me what you think.”
He jerked and frowned at her. “Don’t flick me, woman.”
“Then don’t use me as a pillow, man.”
He laughed through his nose and hauled himself into a seated position. “All right. I’ll read them. If Quade’s learned how to get around Yarrow, maybe it’s time I shift my focus.”
“Well past time,” she said, but lightly. “When’s the next attack?”
“Day after tomorrow. He’s planning to throw everything he’s got at us.” Ko-Jin seemed to wake up, suddenly. “The queen insists on being there. I need you to protect her.” His eyes turned fierce and earnest, and Bray’s heart hurt for him.
“I will.”
He nodded and pushed to his knees. “Let’s go to bed, then.”
She quirked a brow at him, and he laughed. “I meant our separate beds. Separately.” He swung his gaze to the stars. “Blighter, it’s like I can feel Yarrow glowering down at me from on high. Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
Bray’s smile changed, turning bittersweet. “I get that feeling, too. Like I can sense him.”
Ko-Jin placed his large, warm hands on her shoulders. “He’s gone, Bray,” he said gently.
“He’s not, though,” she said. And then, when she saw his pitying expression, hurried to add, “I mean, I know he’s not here, but he’s not gone. He hasn’t been blighted. He exists, still. I know it.”
Ko-Jin smiled sadly. He kissed the top of her head. “I hope so.” Then he lumbered past her to the door.
Minutes later, Bray walked through the night-dark streets, her hand fisted around the kerchief in her pocket. In her mind, she kept playing those final words with Ko-Jin over and over. She sounded like a Fifth caught in a loop: He exists still. I know it. He exists still, I know it.
I know it.
The keel of their boat connected with a white-sand shore. A wave beat against their backs, and Yarrow Lamhart clutched the rough wood of the gunwales.
He glanced over his shoulder, to the coastline far across the sea—to the land of the living. That beach appeared faded to his eyes, colorless and obscured in a manner he could not blink away. The island ahead of him, by contrast, beckoned with riotous color.
His heart tolled a mournful beat in his chest.
“Come,” Adearre said.
He stood knee-deep in the water, one hand extended to Yarrow. His dark face was washed in bright sunlight, his eyes gleaming yellow. Yarrow hesitated. This moment held weight; it seemed full of otherworldly portent.
A part of Yarrow longed to turn back. He was reminded of that ancient stairway outside Nerra, the entry to the Confluence, and how his dread had deepened with every step he climbed. And yet the tug of destiny had urged his footsteps onward.
Onward.
There were so many times he might have turned back. Countless choices led him to this moment. And now—now, it was too late to change course. He took Adearre’s hand.
Yarrow waded through the cool water and spilled onto the sandy shore. This place was different from the living world; entering it demanded he be different too. His knees buckled to the ground, connecting him to the Spirit’s Home.
And his mind was transformed.
As a boy, Yarrow had fallen in love with the transcripts of the Fifth because they gave him this peculiar feeling, like a man who’d stumbled upon a hole in the wall that separates common understanding and real truth. That was how it felt to untangle all those prophecies: like he was peering, one-eyed, into something bigger and more wondrous than himself. Every snatch, every glimpse, elevated him.
But this—oh, Spirits, this felt as if that wall had fallen away entirely, and he was standing with a full, unobscured view into the vastness of truth. He understood. He saw. His mind was no longer limited by his human brain, nor constrained by his own set of experiences. The past came alive, a detailed history that played in his mind’s eye like a moving picture.
And the future—it spilled before him like so many diverging roads. He gazed into that multitude of possibility, and his heart broke for all the pain that still lay ahead.
It broke, too, because there was joy he’d not thought possible. Some of these paths led to such beautiful places, destinations he wished he could see. He willed himself not to weep; to keep these tears of hurt and hope held back.
Adearre clasped Yarrow’s shoulder. “Omniscience suits you, love.”
Yarrow laughed weakly and rubbed his temples. There was no pain, but he had the sense that his head should ache. So much knowledge should not fit into one mind.
Though perhaps the information didn’t truly fit, because he sensed that he had a leak. He could feel it—bits and pieces of this new understanding slipping out of him, flying back into the world of the living. Truths that would pour from the mouth of his former body.
“This is normal?” Yarrow asked. “This is how every spirit sees?”
“And yet, somehow, many are still blind,” Adearre said.
Yarrow pushed to his feet and brushed sand from his robes. He craned his head to look up. The glass spire, which he’d seen from the far shore, now towered above him with impossible height. It comprised countless facets, all glinting like diamonds in the sunlight.
The sun sat high in the sky, unmoving. Yarrow wondered how he could measure the passing of time without the shift from day to night. While everything else in his head was now clear, time seemed hazier. Space and time were connected, he now understood, and as the Spirit’s Home was not true space, the time here was not true time.
“Yarrow Lamhart,” a well-known voice called to him. “Becoming a Fifth? You’ve got a real flare for the dramatic, don’t you?” Yarrow found several spirits emerging from the line of palm trees, all of them familiar. “Though I guess ‘flare for the dramatic’ might be a bit hypocritical coming from someone who literally blew herself up.”
Yarrow smiled at his sister Cosanta. “Rinny. How is the afterlife treating you?”
“I’m still too peeved about being dead to take much liking in it.”
Yarrow embraced Rinny, slapping her back. She grinned at him, the same gap-toothed smile he remembered. She looked just like the girl who’d never missed an opportunity to pick his pocket, just to prove she could. And yet there was something different about her, something he could not place.
He shifted his attention to the others. They were a strange, disparate collection, connected only by two facts: they had known Yarrow in life, and they were all now dead.
“Yarrow,” Jo-Kwan said solemnly. They embraced, and the former king said softly in his ear, “Thank you for your part in rescuing my sister from that monster.”
Yarrow nodded and clapped Jo-Kwan’s shoulder, then turned to the impassive face of Peer’s friend, Su-Hwan. He had not known the girl well, but he shook her hand. “It was a brave thing you did,” she said, “giving up your life.”
“Brave?” Vendra said, her mouth pursed in distaste. “Maybe, but who’s going to look after grandfather if we’re both here?”
Yarrow’s heart twisted, thinking of poor Dedrre, left with so much grief to shoulder on his own. “I’m sorry for that,” he said. Vendra took his h
and and squeezed once, in an embarrassed sort of way.
It occurred to him that Vendra had killed both Adearre and Su-Hwan, and yet here they all stood together, greeting him with no evident hard-feeling. The land of the Spirits was undeniably odd.
“So,” Yarrow said. “What now?”
The beach was so very quiet. Just the hushing of the tide against the shore, and the rustle of palm fronds in the wind.
“Now we return to the Company,” Adearre said.
“We have been waiting for you,” Su-Hwan said.
“You will be asked to speak,” Jo-Kwan said.
Their speech patterns were unsettling, as if a single mind were speaking through different mouths. More than that—there was a look in each of their eyes that was decidedly inhuman. All-seeing, all-knowing. More and yet less at the same time. Like a person so intent upon the horizon that they failed to notice the foreground.
“And what am I meant to say?” Yarrow asked.
“Something true,” Vendra said. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Yarrow shrugged in concession. He supposed a longing for truth had brought him here, but he’d thought only of what truth he might offer his living friends as a Fifth. He’d assumed his job was finished. Apparently not.
“Come,” Adearre said again.
They guided him into the tree line. Yarrow stepped under the ceiling of fronds, entering a shadowy grove that smelt of secrets. The others fell away—he did not see them leave or fade, they were simply there and then not. All around, the flora whispered in the wind. He heard voices in that rustling, though no one was near.
Three cheers for—
Baby girl—
Feet flat—
The whispers built like a pressure in his ears, until he was bent under the weight of them.
Just one of many—
Count of three—
What would be the point—
Yarrow?
YARROW?
He clapped his hands over his ears, heart pounding. The trees reached for him, and so he ran. Fronds slashed at his face and roots grasped for his feet. It only grew darker as he plunged into the depths of the forest. He despaired of being lost and alone. Please.
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