by Cait Spivey
“What do you think we should do, Empress?” she asked.
Guerline flushed red, both with embarrassment at being put on the spot and with anger that the shapeshifter was presuming to test her in the presence of so many who were older and wiser than she was. How was she supposed to know what needed to be done? She had never battled the personification of evil and illness before. She had only the most cursory knowledge of magic in the first place, and that only thanks to Desmond’s spotty instruction on his visits over the years. She narrowed her eyes at Lisyne, who merely continued to stare at her with the slightest of half-smiles on her face.
Calm down now, Guerline. They were clearly entering into a war. If this thing had required all the power of all the shapeshifters to bind four thousand years ago, then they would surely require every witch in the empire to match that. This thing would likely expect such an action, so she very much doubted that it would come without an army of its own: hell-hounds, demons, probably every nightmarish creature she’d ever been told a story about. They would need to bring the standing human army as well. It made Guerline sick to think of sending her brave men and women out to engage such heinous creatures while the witches worked their magic, but how else could it be managed?
She looked around the room, blood pounding in her ears. Her face felt like it was on fire. She clenched the arms of her throne to keep from putting her hands on her cheeks. Desmond and the other Kavanaghs looked reassuringly at her. Morgana seemed to be trying to tell her what to say by waggling her eyebrows in ridiculous patterns. Aradia smiled warmly, nodding at her to go ahead and speak. Olivia simply looked at her and gave her a single nod. Desmond grinned broadly, which struck Guerline as inappropriate.
Guerline stood and let the cool-headed empress persona she’d been cultivating wash over her. With each deep breath she took, her emotions—her pain at Eva’s loss, her fear of and anger at Lisyne—wrapped themselves tighter around her heart, giving this other Guerline room to overtake her body.
She addressed the Kavanagh sisters. “Return to your clans and prepare for battle. We will rally all our guardsmen. We muster just north of the city on the eastern bank of the River Acha. From there, we will march on the Zaide Mountains.”
She turned and looked Lisyne in the eyes. The shapeshifter’s expression had not changed, and she waited, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.
“You will lead the witches in resealing the gate while we engage whatever army the creature’s brought on the ground,” Guerline said.
Lisyne grinned.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The shapeshifters and the Kavanaghs filed out of the throne room, off to make whatever preparations were required for the clans. Guerline watched them go. As soon as the door closed behind Aradia’s green train, the empress let out a sob and ran to the crumpled body of her friend.
The back of Eva’s head was flattened, and sticky with the blood and cerebral fluid oozing out under the sharp bits of skull that had pierced her scalp. Her face wet with tears, Guerline gingerly turned Eva over so that the wound was hidden, then took up her lover’s cold hands and leaned forward until her forehead rested on Eva’s still chest.
“What can I do?”
Guerline jerked her head up and twisted to look over her shoulder at Desmond. He stood a few paces behind her, hands limp at his sides. His brow was furrowed and his eyes filmy—but who were his tears for? A fresh wave of sobs rose in her throat as she thought of Eva’s last few days. She had made many allies with her anti-magic talk, but would Pearce Iszolda weep for her? Would Lanyic Eoarn?
“Help me carry her,” she said.
Desmond moved in immediately, nudging Guerline back with his shoulder as he scooped Eva into his arms and stood. Guerline struggled to her feet, hampered by her yards of dress, stiff with dried blood.
“Lead the way, Lina,” Desmond said.
Nodding, she staggered over to the throne room doors, pushing one of the heavy bronze panels open. She led Desmond toward the rear of the palace, around the garden, to the Temple of the Shifter Gods. The doors were flung wide, and a thick line of people stretched back down the hall toward them. Guerline stopped short when she came upon it. No one had noticed her yet, and she was paralyzed. She couldn’t face them, especially not when all she wanted to do was scream at them to get out so she could prepare Eva’s body in peace. She would have to find somewhere else to go. She turned around and made for the garden’s nearest entrance.
“Lina?” Desmond asked.
“What does it matter if she’s prepared in the temple? The gods aren’t real,” she muttered.
She went to the fountain in the center of the garden, cutting through the labyrinthine paths with utter certainty. It seemed she did not get quite so lost in the garden as she’d always pretended.
The fountain was built of white marble, with three huge, ornately carved basins rising from the center. Clear, bright water bubbled from the very top and spilled over into each level, filling the several meters wide pool that formed the base. The water was perhaps two feet deep, so it would do well enough for a washing.
Guerline had removed her silk overdress during the undead’s attack, and wore two layers of linen shifts over her undergarments. She unlaced and stepped out of the top one, a finer-woven lavender that was forever ruined by blood, then climbed over the short wall into the pool. The water was surprisingly warm and she let out a relieved sigh, then turned to face Desmond and held out her arms.
“I’ll wash her here,” she said.
He nodded and leaned over the fountain’s wall, lowering Eva gently into the water. Guerline knelt and slipped her left arm under Eva’s shoulders, holding her so that her face was still above the water. She brushed stray strands of dark hair back from Eva’s face.
Something metal clinked and Guerline looked up. Desmond was removing his belt. Tears filled her eyes again as she guessed what he was doing. Two people were needed to wash a body and get it ready for a watch. But as she watched him set his belt on the ground, she realized that she didn’t want him there. All she could think of was his silence in the throne room when Lisyne had Eva by the throat, when even his aunt Aradia, who had never met Eva before that hour, tried to defend her. All she could think was that, regardless of his opinion of Eva, he hadn’t said a word to help Guerline persuade the shapeshifter to spare her closest friend.
The tears in her eyes spilled over and a sob escaped her throat, which stopped Desmond before he pulled his tunic off. He knelt on the fountain wall and reached for Guerline’s face, brushed the tears from her cheeks.
“It’s all right, Lina, I’m here,” he said.
She shook her head, but couldn’t speak right away. He leaned in to kiss her, and she froze.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I need . . . the soaps. And oils. And a fresh dress for her,” she whispered.
Desmond hung in front of her for a moment. She looked down at the water, golden in the deep afternoon sun, lapping against the inner wall of the fountain. Then he exhaled and leaned back.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” He turned and began to walk away.
“Desmond!” she called.
He stopped and looked back. Guerline swallowed hard and took a deep breath, hoping to keep the tremor out of her voice.
“Can you find Theodor? I’d like him to help me.”
She couldn’t see his face clearly, between the distance and the blur of tears, but she felt the edge in his voice as he said, “Of course.” He turned away again and disappeared from view. Guerline held her breath, but the sobs overcame her. She clutched Eva’s body tightly and hung her head, coughing and gasping as she wept freely for several minutes; then she sucked air down in earnest, desperate to get control of herself.
More than anything, she wished that things had not been so tense between her and Eva for the last few days, the last few months, the last few years. She wished that she had been less afraid of her brother and
her parents, that she’d demanded to participate and learned more about ruling. And she wished, above all, that Lisyne was wrong and that Eva had not known Alcander intended to rape her.
She had given Guerline the dagger. It had seemed such an odd birthday present . . .
“It doesn’t matter now,” she whispered, resting her cheek on Eva’s forehead. Evadine was dead. Alcander was dead. Neither of them could break her heart anymore. She would wash Eva and prepare her for the watch, and then it would be over.
The watch. Guerline jerked her head up, eyes wide. The barrier between worlds had fallen. The Heart of Thiymen was dead. No witches had come for her dead people. No witch would come for Eva either. She would have to go in a shallow grave with all the others, assuming whatever sorcery it was that woke the dead did not strike again.
She squeezed Eva’s body even tighter and looked up into the deepening blue sky, inappropriately clear for Guerline’s dark musings. For the first time, she contemplated cremation. It was a grave dishonor for a body not to be given again to the earth, but better for her flesh to be reduced to ash than suffer the indignity of mindless reanimation. She closed her eyes and took another deep, bracing breath.
When she opened her eyes, a pale blonde girl in black stood before her. Guerline narrowed her eyes.
“I know you,” she said.
“We’ve met,” the girl said. Her lips were blood-red, her eyes dark as her dress.
Guerline remembered. The night her brother died. And . . . last night’s terrible dream. “What is your name? Are you a Thiymen witch?”
“My name is Ianthe,” the girl said. She looked down at Eva. “The wolf killed her.”
The wolf. Lisyne. Guerline nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Ianthe walked forward until she pressed against the fountain’s wall and Guerline had to crane her neck back to look her in the face. The girl knelt on the other side of the wall and rested her hands on the marble.
“I can take her soul to Ilys,” Ianthe said.
Guerline’s heart leapt. “But the barrier—” Her voice failed her. She didn’t know what it really meant that the barrier had fallen. Was the underworld lost, or was it open? Had all the souls been let loose, or were those in Ilys still safe?
Ianthe’s musical voice cut through her thoughts. “I will make it safe. It is within my power.”
Part of Guerline told her she should be suspicious of this mysterious girl, but she was weak and weary of suspicion. She swallowed the lump in her throat and asked, “Why?”
After a pause, Ianthe said, “For the love you bear this girl, and for the hate I bear Lisyne.”
Good enough for me. “She’s not ready yet.”
Ianthe laughed. “I care little for your sweet-smelling soaps. I will take her now, if you wish.”
Guerline looked down at Eva and nodded. “What about her body? Will she be—if the dead rise again—”
“She will not wake.”
She sighed in relief, nodded again, and held Eva out a little closer to the pool’s wall. Ianthe reached down and laid a hand on Eva’s chest. She lifted the hand, pulling with it the blue afterimage that was Eva’s soul. Ianthe turned and, with her free hand, parted some curtain invisible to Guerline and guided Eva’s soul through, singing over it in a language Guerline didn’t recognize. Inch by inch, Eva’s essence disappeared. Tears streamed down Guerline’s face as she watched, and as the last of the light faded, Guerline closed her eyes.
“He told her that he’d kill you. If she warned you,” Ianthe said.
If Guerline’s heart continued to seize the way it had so many times over the last few days, she would surely die herself. She didn’t even try to breathe through the pain in her chest as she met Ianthe’s gaze, letting the tightness take her lungs until she was forced to gasp.
“What?”
Ianthe smiled sadly at her. “Lisyne did not tell you everything. Yes, Eva knew of Alcander’s . . . intentions. And he swore to her that he’d kill you if she told.”
Sobs wracked Guerline. “So she gave me the dagger.” She shut her eyes again and curled around Eva’s body, now soulless, now truly dead. Her own flesh felt numb, but she still noticed when Ianthe kissed the top of her head. She shot out a hand and grasped Ianthe by the wrist.
“Who are you? How do you know this; how do you know what Lisyne said in the throne room?” she demanded.
Ianthe looked down on her with eyes so black they made the night seem bright, so dark they reflected nothing. She twisted her hand so that she clasped Guerline’s wrist in return, sat down on the fountain’s edge, and leaned in close.
“Listen to me now, Guerline. Leave this place. Leave this land, which has taken everything from you. You owe nothing to Arido anymore,” she said.
She pulled out of Guerline’s grasp and walked away. Her steps hardly made a sound against the stone path.
“Ianthe,” Guerline called.
She was almost surprised when the girl stopped and turned her head just enough for Guerline to see the rise of her cheekbone.
“If I tell Lisyne what you’ve said, what you’ve done . . . what will she say to me? What name will she give you?” Guerline asked.
Ianthe turned completely around and smiled at Guerline, a smirk that seemed familiar to her. A breeze swirled around them, meeting Guerline’s damp skin, raising goosebumps all along her arms and lifting Ianthe’s wispy blonde hair.
“Know this. Lisyne would have eaten your Eva whole, if it weren’t for the witches. She still wants them to revere her, but even the Kavanaghs could not abide the mutilation the wolf would have wrought upon her flesh,” Ianthe said.
When Guerline spoke, it was hardly more than a whisper. “Tell me who you are.”
“You know already.” Ianthe glanced down and laughed, a quiet, private laugh that Guerline almost could not hear. “And yet, you let me take her.”
Guerline swallowed, a fresh wave of tears stinging the corners of her eyes; but she would not let them fall. She looked down at Eva, who could almost have been asleep had her skin not been so ashy, and folded the dead woman into a tight embrace. When she looked up, Ianthe was gone.
Instead, she saw Desmond returning with Theodor, jogging lightly down the path toward her. Theodor came to a stop a few feet from the edge of the fountain and immediately reached down, pulling off his boots and stockings. Desmond hung further back, his arms draped with a white dress, a blanket, and several small pots. Guerline watched them, exhaustion settling into her limbs like ropes tightening around her and holding her immobile. She saw the look on Desmond’s face, a sweet attention that had never been there before, and felt utterly incapable of dealing with it. She wished he would just leave.
Her gaze met Theodor’s; she saw there the steady calm she’d come to expect from him, and knew having him help her with Eva was the right decision. He nodded to her, a smile in his eyes if not on his lips, and turned away to gather the things they’d need from Desmond.
“Thank you, Desmond,” Guerline said, her voice quieter than she’d intended.
“Please let me stay, Guerline. I don’t want to leave you. I’ll just sit over here,” he said.
She shook her head, struggling to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. Theodor, silent and diligent, arranged the pots of oils and perfumes along the fountain’s wall, then stepped into the water and knelt. He slipped his arms around Eva, taking the weight from Guerline. She rocked back and let her arms go loose, sighing as they sank slowly to her sides.
“At least tell me why, Lina! Why won’t you let me—”
Guerline snapped her head up and gazed wide-eyed at Desmond. “Because you did nothing to help her. Because all you’ve done since you arrived is distrust her and, by extension, me. And because even now, all you can think about is your desire to insinuate yourself into my life, even as the woman I love lies dead in my arms!”
She stood, her legs tingling after kneeling for so long, water streaming down the sodden fabric that clung to her rolling
form.
“You don’t deserve to lay a hand on her. Not even to look at her. Now leave,” she said.
Desmond stared at her, slack-faced with shock, and a cold flower of regret blossomed in her heart. She didn’t want to cause him pain, but her heart was too overwhelmed, and if he stood there looking at her like that for a moment longer, it would shatter. She looked down and sank back into the water, her hand finding Eva’s beneath the surface.
“I’m so sorry, Guerline. I didn’t mean . . . please, tell me how I can best be of service to you.”
Guerline glanced up and met Theodor’s eyes instead of Desmond’s. Her voice was caught somewhere behind her sternum. Theodor twisted his body and looked at Desmond over his shoulder.
“Perhaps you and Lord Marke might mobilize the Guild of Guards?” he suggested. “Have them join the muster in the Valley?”
Guerline kept her gaze trained on Theodor’s shoulder and listened to Desmond respond.
“Yes. Of course.”
His boot heels clicked against the stone where Ianthe had passed so silently mere minutes before. The sound faded until all she could hear was the gurgle of the fountain behind her. She let out a shuddering breath that had not fully escaped when her lungs contracted again and forced her to gasp.
“Thank you, Theodor,” she whispered.
“Offer me no thanks, Guerline. I have done nothing more than be of service to my friend,” he said softly.
She opened her mouth to thank him again, despite his words, but she could not summon up the energy to speak. Theodor reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. The pressure of his hand grounded her, brought her back to herself and gave her something to focus on other than the roiling knot in her stomach. She met his gaze, and he smiled at her, just the slightest upturn of his mouth’s corners. She returned it, and nodded once.
He shifted his hold on Eva’s body, splaying one hand under her neck and head and one in the small of her back, and lifted her so that she was nearly parallel to the fountain’s floor. Guerline slowly and carefully unlaced Eva’s linen shifts and pulled them off one at a time, leaving her naked in the water. Theodor moved his hands only to let Guerline maneuver the clothing, putting his hands back exactly where they’d been after she passed.