I recognize the paintings upon the walls—phoenixes—and Lore leads me towards the same room Hana took me to some days ago. Red phoenixes bow upon the walls and Lore snaps out her hand, striking the door and shoving it open before pushing me inside. Lore and the woman in black follows. When Akane doesn't come in, my shoulders relax. I breathe a sigh of painstaking relief.
The room has changed. A bed no longer sits upon the far wall and the balcony doors have been barred with wood. Upon the floor sits a mountain of beautiful dresses, and to my left sits an oaken vanity with a tin basin of steaming water opening its wide mouth beside it.
I can't control myself. I fall to my knees. I heave—I cry—and I'm slapped. Cracked hard across the face by a bony hand.
“Be grateful!” the woman in black barks as she hovers over me. Moves her arm over her opposite shoulder as she readies herself to slap me again.
The hand races towards me and I catch her wrist. I dig my nails into her skin and she winces. “Why have you brought my friend back from the dead?!” I screech—and a surge of raw strength powers through me as I pull her down to my height. She's forced to bend. Forced to kneel and glare into my face as my teeth grind painfully together. “Why couldn't you leave her in peace—,”
And Lore's at my back now. Fingers dig into my left shoulder and I'm forced to release the woman who hisses when she's free of my grip. Who turns her back to me and mumbles angrily under her breath.
“We needed to be sure you wouldn't turn on us.” Lore whispers. Her breath slimy upon my ear. “We needed to keep you in line.”
“I'm here. I'm following you—your directions. I'm doing what you want—let her go.”
“Unfortunately,” she responds, grabbing my shoulder. “it will not be that easy.” and she hefts me up. Makes me stand. “But I will explain what you're to do if you want her to go back into the ground. Will you listen?”
I nod and she guides me over to the vanity. I sit upon a stool of wood and Lore turns her head. Snaps at the woman in black who comes. She forces my arms over my head and throws off my shift before kneeling at my back and untying the binds around my torso.
“My birds need a home.” Lore begins, her fingers racing through my hair as the woman in black leaves me naked. A hand takes mine and I'm forced to leave Lore's side. Forced to tumble into a vat of steaming water that burns me. That hurts my skin—but the woman in black shoves me into the tub. Makes me fall into it—and I hiss.
“The Dawnlord has declared himself grand marshal, and has forgotten to divide up the spoils of war. The Arden Vale has bowed to him. Csilla remains a dangerous but neutral territory, and the Wish has yet to choose a side.”
The woman in black is scrubbing me now. Scrubbing hard with a wooden block of bristly cloth. I wince—I tense up and press her away when she's close, but she only swats at my hands when I try to shove her. When I try to make her harsh hands go away, she scrubs harder—making my skin a muddy red as the cloth viciously rips and scrapes at me.
“My birds have entered the Wish, and found it wanting. In defense. In its people.” I stand from the tub when the woman's done, and she hurriedly towels me off. She presses clean undergarments to me and I carelessly slip them on. I begin wrapping white bindings around my chest—but a bony hand stops me. Unties the binds and begins to wrap them under my chest.
“The Wish,” Lore breathes from her spot near the vanity. “is perfect.”
A dress is thrown to me. Hoisted over my head and it feels like a million miles of cloth have been draped over me. I'm used to men's clothing—breeches, tunics, and thin slippers. But when this woman covers me in a trailing gown of heavy, purple, silk; I feel as if the garments have been tampered with somehow. Like weights have been sewn into the graceful drop sleeves and trailing hem.
It is uncomfortable. Wearing this dress is uncomfortable, and I want to take it off.
But the woman grabs my shoulders and forces me towards the vanity. She sits me down and begins plucking at my face. She paints heavy kohl upon my eyelids before tying up pieces and parts of my hair into an elaborate style. A style fit for a dancer—a minstrel.
A songstress.
“No—,” I place my hands to the smooth oaken lip of the vanity and attempt to press myself away.
“You will be silent when the nightingale speaks!” comes the woman's harsh hiss.
But Lore giggles—laughs—and quiets her voice. Her single hand comes to my shoulder, the shoulder opposite the woman in black. “Now, now, Calanthe—,” Lore's pale eyes snap to the face of the woman in black, the mirror reflecting her anger as it boils beneath her skin. Her mouth becomes a grim line as her eyes narrow. “You must be silent—,” the word is spat—and Calanthe blinks. Backs away and immediately lowers her head. “—when the Voice of the East speaks.”
The Voice of the East?
My eyes widen.
She was a goddess of the old myths. Of the dead pantheons. The Voice of the East was a goddess who no longer existed. Who…died.
How could I resemble a deity?
In the mirror, I watch Lore return her gaze to me. I watch her smile. “You are our Voice of the East, Naia. And you will be a gift. A gift to the Lord of the Wish.” she runs her hand through my hair as I open my mouth reject this—to reject this new title and this new image. But I freeze. I look at myself in the mirror and almost don't recognize the person who stares back at me. Black hair falls like a dark river over purple silks. My eyes are wide—heavily lined in kohl and I blink. Lore forces my open mouth closed with biting fingers. Fingers that curve around my chin and tighten. Fingers that force me to tilt my head up.
“Should he accept you into his home—you will be our gateway.” Lore's smile is thin. Long. Her lips resemble the curved mouth of a snake's. “Our gateway to flooding the Wish with black birds.”
32. Thoughts of Home
“I do not understand.” I tell Lore.
“You don't need to,” comes Calanthe's voice, her reply a breathy hiss uttered from the back of the room, “all you need to do is open your mouth and sing.”
…
I have nothing to take with me. Nothing to leave as a reminder of my presence. Nothing to give as gifts to those that have helped me here. Nothing for those I'd call my friends or acquaintances.
But a voice reminds me—they've forgotten you. Lore's birds have cleared you from their memories.
Your existence has been expunged. Removed.
You never lived here.
And Kokoros the scullion never existed.
I bite my lip at that and push away from the oaken vanity before me as my eyes twinkle back at me in the mirror. Unshed tears threaten to fall when Lore leaves me. I hear her bid orders to Calanthe who rushes over to pinch me, to force me from my seat and into the hallway. Tsubame becomes a blur as Calanthe rushes me through blank hallways. I feel as if I have been misplaced. As if this has all been just a horrible dream that I have finally woken up from—only for reality to show itself to be the true nightmare. A very real dream that I must plod through. Slog my way through until I finally get to the other side. To the reality I've dreamt about. To home.
The Orthella was my home. It ordered me away. Akane's shelter was my home—but war took that. Soldiers and the Dawnlord stole it from me. Then Tsubame was my home. But I'm ousted again. Over and over—where will I live now? Where will life drag me to now?
Will I ever truly have a home? Will I ever get to stay in one place and enjoy monotony?
When will this nightmare end?
Dear, Fates—what have I done? What have I done to deserve this?
There is no answer. No reply, and I steel myself as my slippers touch damp grass and I'm out of the castle as Calanthe stomps past me. As she approaches the same red-gold palanquin Lord Hinata arrived in just hours before.
Akane follows her, blindly. Stops when she's near me. Murky eyes turn to me and I avoid her unwavering gaze. I avoid looking at the scar across her neck—and I tell myself it
isn't her. That's not Akane. But when she fishes something out of the pocket of her dirt smeared breeches and places a leathery palm on my shoulder, I look up.
She doesn't speak. She nods. Nods towards a hand that's open.
A gold emblem rests in her hand. The symbol of a dragon bound in a circular ring. Hana's emblem. She never took it back.
A soft smile graces my lips. I take it, murmuring my thanks as my fingers close around it. As I imagine that it's a little piece of Hana that will help me remember. That won't allow me to forget what I did here, even if everyone else has. Even if everyone else believes Kokoros never existed—at least I know he did. At the very least, I'll remember.
And, truly, that's all that matters.
Akane attempts a smile. Attempts a grin, but fails. The muscles of her jaw are tight when she storms through the grass towards her handler. Calanthe slaps her hands to her wide hips as she approaches a group of burly retainers. I hear her scream before she turns her gaze to me. Before she glares.
“Get in.” she spits as the men squat in the grass. Readying to hoist the palanquin up. “You're special enough to warrant a palanquin, apparently. So, get in.”
And I do. I scramble into the little box before I'm lifted. Before a cadence is sung and the floor of the palanquin sways beneath me. Moving in time to a slick beat and a low voice that hums. That belts out notes in time to the heavy footfalls in the grass.
Pillows surround me. Scarlet. Like blood. My fingers are still curled around Hana's emblem, and I open my fingers. I let it lay upon my palm and stare into its painted red eyes. I wonder if she'll remember me. If whatever spell Lore's birds placed on her would falter—if our friendship was strong enough for her mind to overcome their witchcraft.
Remember what hangs in the balance if you fail. Hana's life—and the lives of many more.
Remember.
And I swallow. Golden curtains cut me off from the world outside, and I pull the closest one open. I peer out, turning my gaze. Looking upon Tsubame as it shrinks. As it slowly becomes smaller and smaller until it's just a little beacon on a golden hill top. Strong. Sturdy.
Protect my friends. I tell it. Protect them for me.
Fear bubbles in my stomach when I let the curtain slide back. Fear grows, and I wonder what I'll have to do to keep Lore from hurting the people I care about.
Sing—you'll have to sing.
But my voice holds power—and my mind flashes back to what I did to Akane. Her eyes rolled back—it was like her life had been taken away a second time.
I didn't want to hurt—to kill. I didn't want others to feel the loss—the longing of losing someone they care deeply about.
Take what you are owed.
I inhale sharply at the words. The voice that boomed in the sky when Yarne swallowed my heart.
She must learn to take.
Take the lives of others for the safety of my friends? Kill for the sake of others? For their protection?
What will Lore have me do?
I swear that I won't—I swear that I will never take another life.
Not for Lore—not for myself. But I will do anything—anything and everything I must to protect my friends. To protect Hana and castle Tsubame.
But death…
If murder is what Lore calls for—I will turn my back.
For I have grown sick and tired of death.
33. Questions Unanswered
The retainers trek for what seems like hours. They are tireless as the palanquin sways beneath me, rocking me to sleep or rocking me to queasiness.
We stop for what feels like mere moments for the retainers to stretch, relieve themselves, or eat. But Calanthe keeps them on a tight schedule—barely allowing them an hour of rest before we're back on a dirt road that curves into golden fields and dissipates. Overhead, the sky's a deep blue with lazy clouds puffing their way north. As the blue fades to purple and orange, the sun descending as it makes space for the moon to take its place in the sky; the palanquin slows. Despite Calanthe's screams and threats to the exhausted retainers, the palanquin slows and is eventually set down in a bowing field of dead grass blackened by a starless night.
I crawl out of the small box expecting to be hit by chilling winds. Instead, I find a cook fire with four men huddled around it. I smell burning meat and suddenly I'm starving as my stomach sings. I stand. I pat the dust from my skirts and move towards the flame.
But Calanthe grabs my collar.
“Our lady made it clear what you're to eat.” and she shoves a meager ball of rice into my face. “To keep your figure.”
From the opposite side of the palanquin, I hear a wheeze and I shiver. “I've done as Lore asked—when are you going to allow Akane's spirit to go to rest?”
Calanthe harrumphs, crosses her arms over her torso and stares towards the small orange fire. “When I see fit.”
I round on her. Squeezing the ball of rice in my hand until it is almost flattened. “I have done everything she has asked! Why hold this over my head?”
“Because I don't trust you. I can't,” she lowers her head slightly, then. Looks at me beneath heavily painted lids. “not until you've fulfilled your purpose.”
“Which is?”
Calanthe's gaze slowly moves to slide over her shoulder. She brings her eyes back to me and rolls them. “You're a gateway, a bridge—,”
“What are black birds—starlings—?” I squeak, but Calanthe slaps a hand over my mouth. When the chattering of the men at the fire turns to silence, she ushers me away towards the opposite side of the palanquin. Towards Akane and the darkness.
“You must never utter that in public!” Calanthe hisses in my ear, her nails biting into my skin as she holds my mouth closed. “You don't need to understand these things—just be what we tell you to be and I will set her free. Do you understand this?”
I look at her. I glare. I think to bite her fingers, to dig my teeth into her skin and make her tell me. But I shake the thoughts away. I wanted to get answers peacefully—not through blood. Never through blood.
I relent. I shake my head.
Calanthe frees me. Lets her hand slide down my face. “You're a beautiful puppet. Lord Emyr will like you and never suspect a thing. Men don't know the breadth of a woman's strength—the power of a single voice. You'll do well as long as you follow instructions. And, if you're lucky, when the Wish is stormed you'll be left out of the attack. You'll be guiltless with no blood on your hands. And she,” Calanthe brings her hand to Akane's shoulder. I watch the redhead tense. “she'll be free to ascend to heaven. But only if you follow my instructions to a tee. Do you understand this?”
I narrow my eyes. “You can't tell me anything? If I'm to be of any help—I'll need to understand these things. Some things—,”
“The hammer does not know the mind of a carpenter. It simply meshes things together. It is never given the big picture. Just as you are, girl. You do not need to understand—you simply need to work. To pry open the gates of the Wish and find the birds a home. Do you understand this?”
“I deserve to know—,”
“Some things a better left unknown.” Calanthe tells me. Sighs as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Anything involving black birds, is better left unknown.” and she leans in, lowers her voice to a whisper and gazes over my shoulder. “You ask the wrong questions, for the answers you seek are not answers at all—but truth. Frightening truths that will haunt your dreams until the dark god takes you from this realm. Without your heart—you are Her vassal. We are shackled and cursed.” she breathes. Slow and steady. Calm and controlled. “Do you understand this?”
I nod. Taken aback.
My heart no longer beats.
“Good.”
…
We meet the Wish and are immediately driven to the pearly gates of its sprawling capital. Calanthe escorts us through gray streets strewn with towering buildings and shops overburdened with an overflow of colorful goods. When we make it to the black gates of Lord
Emyr's home, our procession is halted by a grave-faced retainer.
“Ran?” I hear Calanthe's voice. “Move aside, retainer. The grand marshal sends Lord Emyr a gift and I am to personally bring it to him.”
I listen from inside the palanquin—my nerves making my stomach churn as I kneel with my ear to the curtains.
“Well that's…” the retainer pauses. Breathes. “…unfortunate—,”
“Move aside—I said!” Calanthe commands, her voice a low growl.
But the palanquin doesn't move. The retainers who hold my box up stall, the floor beneath me rocking gently.
“Lord Emyr has passed.” Ran states matter-of-factly. “So you can turn your marshal's special little gift around and bring it back to Felicity!”
34. Grave Encounters
Outside, I hear Calanthe utter a low growl. It is guttural, like an animal's and I feel myself shiver as a hand rips back the golden curtain of the palanquin and talons reach inside. Calanthe grabs hold of my forearm and yanks me from the protection of my little box. I almost spill from the palanquin as the retainers drop it to the flagstones. Strong hands hoist me up before I fall, as bony hands tear me away.
The sunlight is blinding. It ricochets off of high iron gates, and kisses the high heads of erect spears held in the tight hands of watchmen enshrouded in large silver carapaces that resemble the thick shell of a crab. They are faceless in heavy silver helms. I think that they are probably boiling beneath this dry heat as Calanthe ushers me towards a man standing centered between the two watchman. A man with sleepy eyes and a tall, thin, physique.
“The marshal's gift is not a parcel!” Calanthe hisses, her nails digging into my forearm as she stops me. As she holds me still. “It is a person!” and she shoves me to the ground. I catch myself. Fingers splayed upon the gray flagstones at the man's feet as I bring my head up.
“Gods, what is wrong with you—,” Ran grunts. I look up and turn my head as Calanthe stomps past me. She squares her shoulders and stares squarely at Ran. Rises upon her toes to try and match his height.
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