She took solace in their proximity. Feeling part of a group was nice, although the others were there with the clear purpose of working to become Madel’s servants. Maybe she was, too, though her role was a different one.
Soon after lunch, people began to collapse. Serra had easily slid back into meditation, but she heard them fall with muffled thuds on prayer mats. Some had probably fallen asleep, but others may have passed out, perhaps forgotten to take a breath somewhere between five and seven. The meditation continued through the afternoon and into the late hours of the night after another meal break. There was no official word about sleep. The Brother had left before dinner, and the ryns and rynnas keeping watch left pillows at each prayer mat. The novices curled up on them in their own time. When morning dawned, they returned to meditation after breaking their fast, half of the novices gone. Serra did not feel out of sorts rising so early for once; she was surprised to still be there at all. The meditation was not draining as she had expected. It made her skin tingle and her senses sharpened. She could hear beetle ants scurry around the temple’s perimeter.
Lourda collapsed near the end of the second afternoon. Serra did not bid her farewell. She hardly noticed the movement, her mind a limitless void in all directions. When dinner came, she almost begged to stay in place. But she did not want to mislead anyone. Serra did not feel the presence of Madel, only a measure of serenity she had not known since the Raven had arrived with news of Agler’s death.
In the night that followed, Serra dreamed of her father calling to her, but she could not see him. A river’s roar muffled his voice, and she kept running toward it, trying to glimpse him through the thorn bushes along the bank. His voice grew fainter and fainter, and when gone entirely, she woke and immediately prostrated herself on her mat in the dark. Breathing deeply was more of a solace than dreams. She wondered how much longer the exercise might last and sneaked glances at the others who had endured. Four remained, the other three asleep on their mats. Serra prayed they also got what they wanted from the exercise, maybe improved stamina or experiencing Madel in a new way. For her, it was respite.
She breathed deeply and rhythmically, slowing her thoughts with the count. It was familiar now, this strange ability to feel every drop of blood flow, every pulse of her heart move them one miniscule unit farther on a circuit of her body. When a limb fell asleep, it was not an inconvenience but a new sensation she felt in her spirit.
“Open your eyes.”
The whisper annoyed her, interrupting her concentration. It was not yet time for the breakfast meal. She clenched her eyelids down in protest.
The voice grew louder.
“Open your eyes.”
“No,” Serra whispered. “It’s not time yet.”
“Yes, it is, Serrafina. Open them and see.”
Father? The rush of emotions defeated her previous resolve. She opened her eyes, hoping for a hallucination, that he would be here for a moment if only in a dream. Instead, she saw the temple in the partial dimness of daybreak. The other novices were awake and meditating, but only two remained. She hadn’t heard the last one leave.
The atmosphere of the temple felt off, something that shouldn’t be there mixing with the peacefulness. She lifted her head toward the glass dome. Smatterings of dusky redness hung in the air like comet tails. The eerie sight remained after blinking, speckled orbs of red and black grouped together and … fluttering? I must not have woken.
A mass of them churned toward the open temple door, leaving a trail of red dust in their wake. The mass rotated in on itself as it moved. It had to be made up of hundreds of … of … insects, maybe, like a swarm.
Menace emanated from them.
Sudden panic made Serra look up. One of them hovered above her head. It had red wings and pulsing red eyes, the dying embers of a flame. Silently, it swooped downward. She screamed, hand covering her nose and mouth, eyes closed.
Water—or what she hoped was water—splashed over her face. Rynna Robelly, a quiet woman barely taller than a ten-year-old with warm, golden eyes, stood above her, holding the pitcher. She stroked her cheek reassuringly as Serra stirred, realizing she had fainted and wondering if the others who had passed out earlier had shared the same hallucination. How had they held in their revulsion? It had been so real.
Gullo was one of the two remaining novices. “You gave us a scare!” He supported her with muscular, sinewy arms. He had also done carpentry back home in Jost.
“I am sorry … I … I screamed, didn’t I?” She was flustered. No one else had screamed, Serra was certain of it. And seeing evil bugs? Surely, the goal of meditation was not to have a nightmare. The peacefulness she had built up was shattered. She missed her servants. And fresh clothes. And oh, how she missed Janto. He would not laugh at her for those last two complaints, only run his fingers through her hair until she stopped ranting.
Ryn Gylles hurried through the entryway, Rynna Gemni by his side. “Are you recovered?” Worry was apparent in his voice.
She leaned away from Gullo, feeling steady. “I think so. I am not sure what happened. I must have pushed myself too hard.”
Ryn Gylles helped her to her feet. “You should return to your hut. Gullo, would you give her your arm on the walk?” Gullo nodded. “Good. I will have a meal sent to you, Serra. Rest and relax.”
She raised her elbows in acquiescence though resting and relaxing had caused her to faint in the first place. Maybe food would ensure she saw nothing in her dreams this time.
CHAPTER 34
JANTO
Janto stumbled in the dark of the underground passage leading to the dungeons in the hillsides. They were disguised as barrows, their aboveground windows and roofs covered with grass. It was important prisoners be allowed sunlight no matter what they had done. No one deserved to live in the dark.
Serra, apparently, did not share that conviction. It had been a week since the wedding. Janto’s initial panic subsided once his father received a bird from Enjoin. But knowing Serra was safe opened the floodgate of his anger. How could she do that to him? He was now the prince who had been jilted for Madel, and maybe that would be tolerable if true, but Serra had never been devout. There had to be another reason she left. Their love could not have simply changed—he would know, wouldn’t he? But he had barely seen her in months and so much had happened. No, Serra is not like that. There has to be a reason. She would not give up on him without explanation, especially not now when he needed her more than ever. He had planned to tell her about the dreams after the wedding, tell her how killing the stag had been more of a curse than a boon. He needed someone to understand. He wanted it to be Serra, but now …
Disbelief warred with the hurt as he grasped at the rough edges of stone tiles used to reinforce the passage’s walls. He had only been to the dungeons a few times before. They were rarely used after Turyn’s War. Town councils settled most grievances. Only when the charge was more serious, like treason, did prisoners end up here. Vesperi qualified as a potential threat, not because she was Meduan, but because she had indicated no desire to defect. Indeed, she seemed to revel in the base selfishness of her people. Yet he made his way to her through the cold, damp passage, because he had nowhere else to go. “I dream of Vesperi constantly, and it is the only thing that feels familiar now Serra’s gone,” was not exactly dinner conversation for his parents.
The passage took on an olive-green hue as he neared the cells. Two guards outside Vesperi’s straightened up as he approached.
“May Madel’s hand guide you, Ser Firl, Sar Pella.”
“Your Highness.” Sar Pella raised her elbows as high as she could with a pointed halberd in hand. “You must be here for the Meduan? She has had no visitors since your father two mornings ago.”
“Yes. I need to speak with her.”
He breathed a sigh of relief when they asked no further questions. He had no explanation to give them. Unless “Serra is gone and I don’t think she’s coming back” would suffice.
Sar Pella opened the door while Ser Firl took position behind them, one hand on his halberd and the other shielding his eyes from the burst of light that filled the passage. Janto went in, and the door shut fast behind him.
A gasp, and then a peal of laughter. “Why are you here? Need someone to make you feel virile now your princess has absconded with your manhood?”
“Why do you do that?” This was precisely what he needed. All thoughts fled his mind but the irritation this woman made him feel, always fighting, always on guard. Knowing how she’d react, that she could not hurt him without true feelings motivating her attacks, was a relief.
“Do what?” She smirked. “Speak the truth?”
This time he laughed. She could have given him no better opening. “Speak the truth? If you are so fond of that, then why won’t you tell us why you came to Lansera? You are not a defector—you revel in the repugnant habits of your people, take joy in flinging barbs and feel satisfaction when they sting. And you do not speak truth. If you did, you would admit that you know me. It would give your taunts more weight.”
Confusion sprang over her face, but she recovered quickly. Perhaps she does not share the dreams, but she has to know something. Madel would not have thrown her across his path otherwise. It was too much of a coincidence. He had tried to make sense of it on his own but no longer. She had to help.
“Silver, Vesperi. Tell me about the silver that enshrouds you, follows you everywhere.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“That is a lie. I know it is a lie. I have seen it too many times.”
“Seen it? But how could you have—”
He whooped at her slip up, adrenaline flowing like water over a falls, and he would follow it wherever the depths took him. Serra was gone. How much farther down could he go? “I have followed you, chased you through many woods. You flit from hill to bush, from town to countryside, but always, always the silver is your calling card. It can be a brilliant flare, but usually it’s a spark I chase, night or day. A spark that brings me from the cave and leads me around many, many bends.”
“It was you.” She circled him, trembling with shock. “That day in the mountains. I sent you away from my trail. Was that how you found me? Did you wait to track me later?”
Her words made him giddy. I am not crazy. “I dreamed that. I dream it every night.” It has all been real. And just that fast, his reverie broke. He wished some things were not real at all. Serra, why?
“You are insane.” She watched him, eyes wide. “You were there in the flesh. I saw you. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
He did it before he could stop and think. His dagger was very sharp—honing it against stone had been soothing these past few days. It sliced right through the three worn coils of rope binding her hands.
“Do it.” He did not know what power she possessed but was more certain it existed than ever. “Go ahead and do it. Do you think I care right now if you try? I have lost her already. I have already lost my life.”
Vesperi looked between him and her released hands with open shock. She rubbed them, moved each finger slowly to make sure she could. Then she jammed an arm toward the window, out at the open sky, and a moonbeam reached back. Its radiance made him turn away. When he recovered, she had lowered her arm and sat back down on her bed.
He did not know what he had expected, but it was not this, not Vesperi rocking back and forth, holding herself and shaking her head. He moved as fast as he had with the dagger to rest a hand on her neck. With another beneath her chin, he lifted her head.
“Why am I still here?” He didn’t know if he was relieved or more upset than before.
She did not meet his gaze, just clasped and unclasped her hands. “I don’t want to kill you. And I do not know why.”
Her voice was so quiet, he barely heard the words. When she fell silent, he kissed her forehead and stood. “That is one of the sweetest things I have ever been told, coming from you.”
At the door, he paused and she met his gaze. He had recognized her before, in that net. Her irises were molten chocolate now, not silver, but for the first time she was truly the woman in his dreams.
CHAPTER 35
SERRA
The humidity of midevening woke Serra from her nap. Her eyes opened to something flitting around the back corner of the hut. A bird? Serra blinked. Nothing but terra-cotta walls. It was twilight, the sun setting, no fire lit, and any flashes she saw probably a residual effect of the meditation. She had seen young Agler faint more than once after a ritual.
Serra laughed at the thought, a harsh one that reminded her that her throat was raw and not just with regret. She had emulated Agler in a way, had betrayed the Albrechts. Betrayed Janto. So much for avoiding the family disgrace she had spent years trying to atone for. All of it washed away because she agreed to follow a spirit in a gray hood. Agler had a den of evil councilors, but a Brother had been her tempter. If only Janto were here to laugh with her at the irony.
She poured a cup of water from the pitcher and was reassured to see her lips had not turned blue in the mirror. Dots of reddish-black shimmered within the glassy depths. She threw her cup at them. It cannot be. She had imagined those … things … in the temple, had been light-headed.
Turning around may have been the bravest action Serra had ever taken. She screamed.
They were there. Very, very there. They covered the backside of the hut, flying in circles as they dodged each other. The mass of them worked together to suspend themselves in constant motion. Single bugs broke away from the group like red sparks, scouting, and when they did, she could sense their malice, malice and hunger, the worst sensation she had ever felt, worse than leaving Janto at the altar, worse than reading Ser Werbose’s letter.
She had to flee, and she had to do it fast before they scented her. Once they did, she knew deep within herself they would chase. She slipped through the door, eased it shut, and ran. Dozens of little pins pricked her skin—jocal flies, but she slapped her arms again and again just in case.
Thanks be to Madel, the Order scorned personal effects as Serra would never set foot in that hut again. The only thing of value Serra had at Enjoin was the necklace around her neck. Had they been there the whole time? No, that was impossible. It had to be impossible. They would have overtaken her, consumed her. The bodies at the lake had had no time to run.
Up ahead, some novices talked and laughed together. They appeared out of focus, as though caught in shimmering heat waves over sand, though moonslight had more power now. She grabbed the nearest man’s hands.
“Where’s Ryn Gylles?” She pleaded, her voice desperate. “I need to find him, please.”
The rust-haired novice looked at her askew. “I don’t know. I think Ryn Simsi said he left for Oost right after the noon meal.”
Serra shook her head. “No, that’s not right. That cannot be right.” He was there. She could feel him too, same as she could feel the shadow of a thousand tiny eyes staring at her. The pulsing blood in her veins and the rushing pressure in her ears confirmed it.
“He is right.” A novice behind her spoke up. “Ryn Gylles told us at supper he would be back in a fortnight. Rynna Robelly is giving his classes instead.” She placed a concerned hand on Serra’s arm. “You are shaking. You fainted this morning at the meditation, did you not? Can we help you?”
Her eyes burned as though salt had been poured on them. She had to keep going. To the temple. She would give this burden to whomever was there, a Brother if no friendlier faces were about. Someone in charge had to know and fast, before that swarm found its way out of her hut. She had built no fire. They would come through the chimney soon.
She whispered, “No, thank you,” to the woman and raised her elbows to release the gathered novices from her audience. Stupid. What a stupid thing to do. Old habits. The temple’s walls rose higher with each step. Bypassing the main entrance, she went to the kitchen where the priests convened after eveni
ng prayers. It was locked. She ran to a smallish door off the hall that connected the temple to the kitchen cabin and pounded on it. “Let me in! You have to let me in!”
No one came, but the handle swung open easily. The hallway appeared darker and lengthier than it should have been but no matter. Darker things lurked behind her. She placed a hand on the wall to guide herself as the hall sloped downhill steeply. It must lead under the temple rather than from it as it seemed from the outside. The passage was not humid. It was probably the only place in all of Rasseleria that was not.
“Breeding season,” her mother had called this weather one late fall when it had been nearly this bad in Meditlan. Her emerald eyes had twinkled. “When all creatures have energy for naught but making new ones.” Serra had refused to attend the harvest festival in the vineyards surrounding Gavenstone. She had claimed her new doll, a present sent from Aunt Marji, did not want to go outside either, and she couldn’t leave her alone, could she? Serra had been five then. Her mother kissed her on the head, smelling of cloves as always and of the sweet wine she had sipped before fetching her misbehaving daughter from the manor. Twirling one of Serra’s pigtails, Lady Gavenstone had taken her hand and held it tight on the walk to the main festival tent. Serra had wailed until the rows of indigo feathers dangling from the tent’s overhang distracted her.
She doubted she would find anything so captivating at the end of this passage.
The hall curved and packed ground gave way to cool stone so flat and smooth she had to tiptoe to avoid losing her footing. An open door came into view, and a blue-tinged haze came from it. Of course. At least she feared the blue less than what was in her hut. Serra peeked inside.
She swiftly leapt back out. The room teemed with Brothers. By Madel’s hand, she prayed they were an illusion as the waves of heat had been. But another look denied her plea. She steeled herself and slipped inside, slinking up against the wall. The room spanned the width of the temple and a force at its center lit it. The Brothers crowded around whatever gave off that light. Tendrils of it snaked into the hems of their robes and cuffs of their sleeves. They came back out through the hoods, worms poking their way through an apple.
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