“Serrafina Gavenstone,” a whispery voice made its way into her ear, “why have you come?”
She found herself face to hood with a legion of eyeless Brothers, unless the streams of blue counted. “What … what is this place?”
“Madel’s Reach.” She could not tell which Brother spoke.
“Madel’s Reach? But that’s impossible! That’s a fairy tale!” Her thoughts flew too fast to master. Madel’s Reach? She had not heard of the place since learning the history of the Gods’ War. It was a vortex that Madel had reached Her hand through to give orders to Her commanders. To think such a place actually existed—
“Are we not also fairy tales? Do you still not believe what your eyes have seen?”
They know. “What are they? Those creatures in my hut?”
The Brothers rustled, but she could not decipher words or intent. The glow flickered then burned stronger. Warmth emanated from it as one of the tendrils reached her way. It swept around her body, leaving a tingling trail in its wake as though hot syrup had been dripped on her flesh. The muscles of her face relaxed and she closed her eyes, relishing the sensation. When she opened them, her head felt clear again and she was drawn toward the focal point of the room.
A burning hand of pure silver flame shimmered in its midst. She blinked, and it disappeared.
“Did you see Her?” The blue lines flowing into the Brothers dimmed as they absorbed the energy, each Brother engulfing a galaxy of pale, twinkling stars.
“I—I saw something. A hand of silver at the heart of the glow. It is gone now.”
“Then you have also seen them. What we have suspected is confirmed. You have the sight. You are the seer, and you are greatly needed.”
Her feeling of peacefulness gave way to a sinking weight. “What do you mean, I am the seer? What is the sight?” Panic knit itself back together as she thought of sacks of skin and red-winged pestilence.
The blue pulsed through the Brothers’ robes, growing dimmer with each passing second. The illumination at the center of the room was nearly extinguished, though she could feel the warmth of it on her skin. The Brothers parted in two, leaving a path between them. Someone walked toward her through it. Someone with mass and blood pulsing within his flesh.
Ryn Gylles smiled, his crooked teeth oddly comforting. “Serra, we have much to talk about.” He took her arm and led her out of the room and back into the tunnel. Seeing him relieved her and her sense of peacefulness increased. This was right. She had done the right thing, and Gylles and the Brothers knew about the creatures. They would know what to do next. So she was the seer, whatever that meant, and she had seen those creatures. Perhaps her part in all this had been fulfilled, her destiny completed. Maybe she could return to Jan—
“You are of more importance now than ever before, Serra. Praise be to Madel we found you and you have found your sight. You have much work to do.”
When would she learn to stop hoping for anything?
CHAPTER 36
JANTO
Vesperi wore a plain black tunic over a pair of brown leggings, eschewing the gowns stocked in the guest rooms. It was the third combination of shirts and pants she’d worn since being released from the dungeons the night before. His father had agreed to let her out rather easily.
“You are quite fond of pants.” Janto pulled out her chair. “Lansera might get a few things right.” She offered no thanks for the courtesy, but her reply was reward enough. A week ago, he would never have wagered that Vesperi would say something nice of Lansera. That she would sup with him and his family in the council room, hands unbound, was one he would not have taken yesterday. A pair of guards trailed her, and an archer was posted in sight of her bedroom window, but she made no attempts to escape.
Today, Janto felt he could breathe again, though it hurt to do so when he remembered he should have been joined with Serra by now. Yet, Vesperi was meant to be in his life, too—yesterday had determined that.
Those pants suit her. They pulled tightly across her hips in an alluring manner. If she wanted, Vesperi could find a man who appreciated her particular charms. The poor bloke would probably end up with his head—one of them, at least—wacked off by first light. She’d wear an expression identical to the one she wore now, licking her lips after stripping rabbit meat off the bone with her teeth.
“Don’t they have forks and knives on your side of the mountains?” He was glad to have someone he could taunt without remorse. Exchanging insults with Vesperi had worked wonders for his temperament over the past day. He would have punched the stone walls to pieces otherwise.
Her fierce gaze made him blush. “Why bother with such idiocy? It is meant to be consumed, not carved into a dainty piece of filigree to hang on the walls.”
Queen Lexamy laughed. “True, Lady Sellwyn—”
“Don’t call me that … please.” Vesperi shifted in her chair.
Please? Janto mouthed the word to her over the table. She glared.
“As you wish, Vesperi.” His mother’s countenance held a hint of fondness. “But silverware does make a meal easier to sit through. Who wants to remain at the feasting table for hours with greasy hands and bits of cheese stuck under your nails?”
Vesperi bit into a crescent roll, getting flour on her face in the process. Ser Allyn stepped in from the doorway to offer a handkerchief, which she regarded with confusion. “We do not have feasts at Sellwyn.”
“That’s a shame.” His mother took the cloth and folded it, placing it by Vesperi’s plate.
“I disagree. Sitting at the same table as my family for a whole evening would be torture.” Anger simmered within her eyes.
His mother began to ask another question but Janto shushed her. “It’s no use. She will only try to counter everything you say. It’s what she does.” His expression was playful, but Vesperi returned it with malice.
“I only speak the truth, princeling. It is none of my concern that you find Meduan ways distasteful.”
His father, silent until then, put down his goblet. “It is your concern, Vesperi, if you plan to remain in Lansera. The Guj himself gave us warning to watch for you. Do you want us to send word to Sellwyn of your capture? Your manner confuses me.”
Was he teasing or being serious? The thought Vesperi might leave panicked Janto. She had his confidence now, which was not wise, but what other choice did he have? Madel had brought them together for some reason. Janto had enough faith to believe that after Vesperi had confirmed his dreams.
The color drained from Vesperi’s face. “No, Your Majesty.” She bowed her head low. Janto nearly choked on a rabbit bone. He had not thought Vesperi knew the words your majesty.
For dessert, Mar Pina brought in a tray of spice meringues and whispered something in Ser Allyn’s ear. He left the room, and Janto wished for news that Serra had changed her mind and was returning. Stop that. She is not coming back. Rynna Hullvy had likely sent a boy from town to gather wine for the next day’s rituals.
He was reaching for his third crescent roll when Ser Allyn gestured to him from the doorway. Janto grabbed the roll and bid good evening to his parents and Vesperi, pausing to consider whether he should leave her alone with them. But his father had trusted her enough to let her act as a guest here, not a prisoner, so he felt confident Vesperi would return that trust. She had not killed them yet, had she? She cut a bite of roasted turnip as he stared, further proof she was trying to adjust.
Ser Allyn tittered, so Janto followed him down the hall. Maybe Serra had sent word, a note to assure him of her safety. She had to know how worried he was. They could not be so far divided that she did not care.
Ser Allyn stopped in front of the throne room’s opened door. “They asked for you, or I would have alerted your father. I probably should have.”
“Who?” Not Serra, then. He was practiced at dashed hopes.
“Friends from your Murat, or at least they claim to be. They have ridden hard from Wasyla to get here according to the short
one. The other did not speak at all. He appears ill.” That last bit came out in a whisper.
Nap and Rall. Janto was touched. They must have heard about the wedding. He walked through the threshold with a smile of welcome on his face. It morphed into concern as soon as he saw his friends. “What’s wrong?”
Nap was sweaty and smelled strongly of horse. He clasped Janto’s arm wordlessly and led him to Rall, who stared forward vacantly from the benches.
“What has happened?”
Rall stirred at Janto’s voice. More pain covered his face than being left at the altar a hundred times over could place there.
“They are dead.” Tears spilled out of his bloodshot eyes. “My wife and my child … my little girl … they’re dead.”
Janto pulled him close.
“It was the claren.” Nap uttered a word Janto had never heard before, yet it made his blood run cold. “They have returned.”
Ser Allyn gasped from the doorway.
“Bring my father,” Janto called to him. “Whatever he means, the king must know.”
CHAPTER 37
VESPERI
Vesperi paced her room, impatient for … she did not know what. Certainly not a spoiled prince who had forgotten her once his friends came calling. Not an imbecile who had beguiled her into good behavior by cutting her ropes, who had claimed they had a shared destiny when no one had wanted a connection with her before, who had ignored her the rest of the night. If her wrists had not healed from the chaffing of rope, she would have thought herself dreaming in the dungeon.
Vesperi had pried the gossip out of a servant with an attractive braid of hair who never shut up. The woman sounded more concerned than intrigued by it, and soon after she started talking, Vesperi had wanted to clamp her mouth back shut with an iron claw. Bini, the woman was named. Knowing that made Vesperi ill. She had never bothered to learn a servant’s name before. Soon, I’ll be offering to empty my own chamber pot. Disgust shuddered through her.
A familiar knock sounded four times in quick succession. The prince was probably unaware he always knocked four times. So oblivious. Her excitement rose though Vesperi would deny it.
“Come in.” She shouted permission because he would wait if she didn’t. Incredulous.
“My lady.” He was such a mess that she refrained from cackling at his formal greeting. A forest green tunic hung slovenly off his shoulders, and his hair was unbrushed or maybe mussed from running his hands through it as he did now, distressed. “I want you to join my father and my friends. We find ourselves in need of Meduan insight.”
The words pained him, sullen eyes the clearest sign something was amiss. Janto’s brown eyes usually with life, even through the misery of Serra’s abandonment, an emotion Vesperi knew well.
“What is wrong?” She wondered if those words had ever passed her lips before.
When he looked at her, she saw none of the mistrust she usually did, just a man worn, tired, and alone.
“My fellow Murater lost his wife and daughter. I have to do something about it, and I need your help.”
She had no idea what a Murater was, but she followed him out of the room, her guards shuffling behind them until Janto waved them away. “She will be okay with me. Take a break, Ser Golin, Ser Karten.”
He led her to a room a few doors down from the sprawling kitchen. Janto stopped at a nearby mirror and straightened his tunic. Then he gestured for her to enter first.
Three men, including the king, hurried to their feet. “My lady,” they chorused with a polite raise of elbows. She motioned that they be seated as she had learned to do. It felt so odd, giving orders to men, but she would not complain of it.
Two of the men were of age with Janto, both with pale hair. The short one had a proudly raised chest, and the other—well, he was an utter wreck, his face splotchy and countenance cadaverous. She could not understand why losing two women would affect him so keenly. The king sat beside him, not at the head of the table as she had expected, but right there beside a commoner. If Janto’s friends, she supposed, they must not be commoners. But they could be. Lanserim were full of surprises.
“Vesperi.” The king motioned for her to take a seat. Janto nearly fell into the one beside her. This close, she could smell his sweat. It must be serious if he had not bathed. The prince was so prissy.
“Have you heard of the claren?” the king said.
She shook her head. It was a fitting name for a convent, perhaps, but she had never heard of one that bore it. The man beside the king hid his face in his hands.
“Did you hear of attacks of any kind before you left Medua?”
She laughed. Not having attacks would be noteworthier. “Any particular ones you are interested in? I pass at least three knocked-out guards when I leave the manor each morning.” When I used to leave the manor, that is. Vesperi doubted she would return there again. “Who are your guests, Janto?”
The shorter man stood, raising his elbows again. “Napeler of Wasyla of the township Fyn. This is Rall of Wasyla. He is one of our Muraters, and he lives a town over from Fyn. He—he lost his family. Only his son survives.”
“Yes, Janto told me on our walk here.” She scrutinized her nails, uninterested. “But what do you need of me?”
She could feel the king’s disapproval, but that should not concern her. Why should she give this man’s misfortune any attention?
Janto was too tired to hide his exasperation. “It is not that it happened. It is how it happened. Rall’s wife and daughter were reduced to … to skins.”
Rall moaned as new tears fell. Janto laid a hand on his arm before continuing, “When he found them, it was as though someone had carved them right off their bodies as easy as squeezing the fruit from a banana peel. Have you heard of anything like that in Medua?”
She shook her head. “The Guj has been known to flay people, but I haven’t heard of anything that would do what you described. Word would have spread around the convent. New methods of torture are all the rage, especially when the advers want to test them out in … play.” The glint in Uzziel’s eyes as he swung his tornian came to mind, and she shuddered, though she had not then. What was wrong with her? She wished the king would look away.
He spoke gently. “Are you certain? It doesn’t make sense the claren would appear first in Lansera. It is not actions here that have called them to life.”
Vesperi frowned, wondering what he meant.
A bone-chilling scream sounded from outside the room. Other screams joined it but faded swiftly as multiple footsteps raced past the doorway and toward the kitchen. The first scream continued unabated, and everyone jumped to their feet. Then it garbled, as though strangled or smothered, and went silent.
The king, Janto, and Napeler ran out the door, drawing swords from their belts as they went. Rall did not move. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale as Uzziel after a week of stomach purifications.
“I cannot.” His voice was thin and desperate. “I cannot.”
What made her do it she did not know, but she went to him, placed her arms around him and wondered at how she had never touched someone this way—softly, with no sexual intent. She wanted to provide him with … comfort.
The broken man cried against her chest, gripping the fabric of the tunic on her back. It was heartbreaking. But it did not last. No one should affect her that easily. No one had the right to. Familiar rage built within her. She spit out the word “coward” as she ran through the door.
A mess of people filled the hallway, groups of servants huddled together, comforting each other from whatever was happening in the kitchen. Idiots. They should be fleeing, saving their own hides, not waiting to see what happened. Her skin flushed, heat gathering beneath it that she welcomed. This—this felt familiar. And damned if she would stop it now.
She recognized Janto’s voice from among the people yelling and headed toward it. This is his fault. She had never had these impulses before, impulses to help, to provide sol
ace. He would pay for making her feel that way.
CHAPTER 38
SERRA
Ryn Gylles led Serra out of the passageway and temple and into Ryn Cladio’s hut as the first light of dawn was breaking. The chief priest’s head was bent over a book and his beard nearly swept the floor. “Gylles, the Rejuvenation is complete so soon?”
“Yes, but that is not what I have come to report.” Ryn Gylles sounded giddy. “We were right, Cladio. She has the sight!”
At that, Ryn Cladio lifted his head. “Does she?” His purple eyes beckoned from across the hut. “Tell me, Lady Serrafina, what have you seen?”
“Ryn Gylles, I do not understand.” Serra tugged on the arm of her mentor, impatient. “What is the sight?”
“Did you never hear the old chants from your rynna?” Ryn Cladio pinched the skin between his brows. “Madel’s hand, I should have insisted on it being restored years ago.” He rose from the table and took her measure with each step closer. “Without her sight, mankind is done.”
Those words followed her everywhere, it seemed.
“Serra, you are the one who can see where the darkness dwells so it can be destroyed and peace returned to us. You are our savior from the evil that breeds in Medua.” Ryn Cladio clasped her shoulders firmly. “Now tell me, have you ever used magic?”
Magic? It had been plentiful once in Lansera, and some people claimed to have talents others did not, but she had never seen a true exhibition of it. Agler had performed little tricks, pulling rocks out of his tunic sleeve or making a goblet float, but she had always seen the strings. “Ryn, I do not know what magic is.”
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