Rowan was right about one thing. Even at our first meeting she'd spoken about kinship, an idea I'd dismissed at first but came to accept over time. I felt it as strongly with Rowan as I had with Catherine. A bosom friend.
I resolved that should this day be my last, at least I would repair the wound from our previous visit, and perchance learn something that might aid me against the Gamayun.
Of weapons, I took none, choosing to wear only a black dress and riding jacket.
The ride to the Bone House went faster than I would have liked, and upon reaching it, I feared that I had missed Rowan. The sign had been removed from the front, leaving a plain brick building.
Despite the warm sunlight from the cloudless sky, I shivered seeing the vacant building.
I moved to enter and found the front door locked. Using my left hand, I knocked, since my right arm was bandaged and sore.
After long fateful heartbeats, the door opened, revealing not Rowan Blade, but her manservant, Harvest. My chest relaxed with the realization that there was still time to reconcile.
"Harvest," I said, smiling. "It's been too long."
I gave him a formal curtsey, one meant for the gilded halls of the Winter Palace rather than the cobblestone streets of Philadelphia.
Harvest was a dour man, his countenance like a grim warrior’s before battle. Yet, I detected a hint of unexpected gentleness in his regard for me, a softening of the eyes and jaw.
"May I see Rowan? I must speak to her."
This created a moment of confusion in Harvest. He glanced behind him. His bulk was such that I could not spy inside. He seemed reluctant.
"It appears that you're leaving by the missing sign. I need to speak to Rowan before you go—it's my last chance. She would want to speak to me," I said.
The way the skin around his eyes creased slightly told me otherwise. It appeared our last exchange had gone worse than I thought.
"Harvest," I said, touching his arm, which was like granite. "Please. I beseech you to allow me one last chance to make amends with Rowan. I was a fool before."
A brief war waged within Harvest before he relented and moved out of the way, allowing passage. I had the impression he was going against his mistress's wishes and hoped he would not be punished for it.
Tugging on Harvest's arm, I made him stoop down and gave him a peck on the cheek.
The view that greeted me inside made me reel in confusion. If Harvest hadn't been by my side, I might have thought I was in the wrong building.
Harvest gave me a look that said he still wasn't sure that he should have let me past.
The waiting room where the poor would congregate before receiving care was gone, along with the wall that separated the two rooms. The hospital had been replaced by a salon of foreign descent.
A prevalence of mirrors seemed to be the common theme, the reflective surfaces gracing every wall and space, creating a bit of vertigo. The delicate strokes of a gusli reached my ears. The instrument leaned against a dark wood cradle, its strings plucked without a player.
The room stretched back. Settled in one corner was a spinning wheel made of bone. Trinkets and fetishes hung from strings along the ceiling, which was made from ancient timbers. A fanciful painted plague doctor's mask hung from the wall.
This was the abode I'd expected to find after first meeting Rowan Blade in her pale carriage.
Harvest blocked the exit behind me. My heart labored with unexpected fear.
"Katerina," said Rowan as she swept into the room through a curtain of hanging bones. "You shouldn't have come."
Gone was the woman full of doubt, of broken thoughts and old aches. Gone was the kind healer with an easy smile. Gone was the woman I thought I knew.
She wore her crimson dress with bone fetishes hanging from tassels around her waist. Raven hair fell around her face, framing her blood-red lips.
Reflexively, I took a step back. "You're leaving."
"My time here reaches an end," she said abruptly.
Her brown-gold eyes shimmered with dark thoughts. We stood apart, and for a moment, I regretted not bringing my weapons, though I suspected they would be useless against her.
"If I were in danger, would you help me?" I asked.
Rowan held steel in her back. It did not soften, yet she paused as if she wanted to yield.
"Of course, Katerina. What I said before I hold true. We are sisters bound together," she said.
"Then where do you go?" I asked.
"I have obligations to which I must attend."
These obligations seemed odorous by the pinch of her face, but Rowan was a woman of her word.
She opened her mouth, as if to ready a dismissal.
"Tell me about your homeland," I said desperately.
"Trevalorian," she said. "I told you that before. It is no more."
"Tell me about it," I said, trying to keep the conversation in motion. "Tell me anything. Tell me everything."
She held a sigh between her teeth. "I cannot."
"Is Trevalorian a part of Otherland? I know you are not from here. It's how you knew Ben from when he went missing," I said.
"Otherland?" she asked, tasting the name. "I suppose you could call it that. Yes, I met Ben in Otherland, but no, I am not from there. My home was a different place, but like I said, there is no Trevalorian. Not anymore."
A great sadness was contained in that final phrase, though she was practiced at hiding it.
As we shared each other's space, I realized something important that she had told me before.
"Rowan Blade. I must ask you something and you must tell me the truth. Please, much resides on it," I said.
"I am your humble servant," she said. "I will tell the truth as much as I know."
"When you spoke to me of prophecy upon our first meeting, you said that we were destined to be great friends. In this prophecy, did it suggest for how long this would endure? Might this prophecy suggest that I have a long life?"
She was unmoved by the intent of my question, mulling it briefly before giving me a succinct answer. How she answered told me how unambiguous the prophecy she'd been given was worded.
"It said nothing of time. Only that we would be friends. If you seek to understand the length of fate's thread, then you're looking to the wrong place. I am a healer, not a soothsayer," she said.
I hid my disappointment behind a veneer of competence, as if that was the answer I'd desired. The truth was nothing of the sort. I'd hoped that her prophecy trumped the one I'd received, giving me a way out.
Which meant that I would have to face that which I feared most. My death. It seemed odd that I could consider the result of my end, the inability to continue on this existence, but the actual act of dying was repulsive. I feared the unimaginable pain that might arise from such a fell event.
Rowan watched me with interest, head tilted in a way that suggested she desired to know my inner thoughts. I papered over my moment of unimaginable dread with a facetious smile.
"I will take your leave, Madam Blade," I said, giving a deep curtsey meant for an empress.
Rowan flinched slightly, but recovered enough to curtsey, though it seemed an unused motion.
"Whatever happens, I have so thoroughly enjoyed our time together," I said. "As your friend, please remember that you should forgive yourself for whatever happened. I know you seek penance for something in your treatment of the injured, but someday you must allow yourself forgiveness."
Her pale features grew crimson in blush. Rowan seemed too wrought with emotion to speak.
Right before I turned to leave, a realization hit me so solidly I recoiled with surprise.
"What?" asked Rowan.
"Madam, I have one more favor to ask," I said, giddy with excitement. I wasn't sure why I hadn't seen it before.
"Before you leave, I need you to meet me somewhere," I said.
"I'm afraid my timetable is quite compressed," she replied.
I clasped my hands together.
"Please, if you love me, stay a little longer. I need you to meet me at the Franklin Estate." My mind whirled with plans, which I ticked off on my fingertips. "Meet me around sundown, right before the sun crosses the horizon."
The specificity of the request seemed to intrigue her, though in the end she shook her head. "My apologies, Katerina. I cannot. My timetable is as I said, compressed. I must be leaving soon."
I took her hands in my own, feeling a lightness that bordered on mania.
"You must come," I said, squeezing her warm hands. "If anything you ever said was true about us being sisters, then you must come at that time."
"This promise I cannot make. I'm sorry, Katerina," she said.
Content that I'd done all I could, I kissed her cheek and took my leave, saying one last time before I left, "If you love me, Rowan Blade. I will see you at sundown at the Franklin Estate."
Chapter Twenty-One
Back in my abode, I prepared for what was meant to be my final hours. Nothing could dampen my mood, and I hummed the bombastic hymns of my new country as I hurried about.
As usual when I needed him most, Aught was nowhere to be found. But his absence didn't impact my plans except in small degrees.
Rowan Blade had told me once that a strong will can bend a prophecy to a person's needs. The meaning of that had eluded me, or more importantly, I'd thought that if I applied myself to figuring out the prophecy and somehow stopped it, that I would be free of it.
But the prophecy was like a fly landing in a spider's web. The more you struggled to be free, the more entangled you became.
Better to land and not struggle, utilizing what remaining mobility you had to strike the spider dead before it could sink its glistening fangs into your flesh.
Not struggling meant I had to accept the fact that I would have to die. There was no way that I could escape that fate. All roads led to death at Ben Franklin's hand.
Better that I prepare the circumstances to my benefit. The prophecy stated that I had to die, not that I had to stay dead. If Rowan Blade were to bring me back from the dead with her healing powers, then that would satisfy the second stanza. Then it was only a matter of ending my investigation into the murders to stop the last. Since I was the Accidental Killer, I only had to make a vow on the Winter Solstice to not help the Warden, and the prophecy would be neutered.
This plan was fraught with risk, but what choice did I have but to act decisively? Rowan's obligations could keep her from coming to my aid, or she might fail at reviving me. Ben might kill me in a way that made bringing me back impossible. Or my vow to end the investigation might not be significant enough to satisfy the third prophecy.
Yet, despite the risks, I felt a lightness of being, for having even a small chance at redemption was better than nothing.
And I was not foolish enough to put all my eggs in this basket. In case the plan failed and I was sent to the cold cook, I wrote a letter to Ben Franklin, absolving him of my murder.
In the letter, I detailed the threat of the Gamayun, explaining how they could predict the future and that under no circumstances should he visit them. I suggested methods of containing their presence: a fire to root them out and send them from this realm, a great barrier built around the forest, and sending a team in with munitions to destroy their home.
If they kept their ears plugged and did not tear the fruits in the webbing of roots, they could not hear prophecy.
It was a risk telling Ben about the Gamayun, but I decided it was a bigger risk to leave them unattended near the city. They were agents of chaos, and chaos thrived when no one was paying attention.
In the end, despite my desire for brevity, I'd written numerous pages. I left them stacked on the armoire in case of my death, so that Ben would find them.
This time I strapped the pistol and rapier to my hip. It was my intention to force a confrontation, so I left them in plain view.
A northeasterly wind whipped through the city streets, assaulting my person the moment I stepped outside. Snow swirled like dervishes. Breath was ripped into ribbons at each exhale.
A blanket of clouds covered the sky, hiding the sun and turning the world to gray. Shadows had been dispelled by a light that came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
I checked my pocket watch, regretting that I'd set my meeting time with Rowan to the setting sun. It'd been a clear morning when I'd made my request.
Moving to the alleyway, I quickly ascertained that the steam carriage wouldn't heat in time. I'd spent too long penning my missive to Franklin.
Hurrying across the city left me exposed to the brutal winds. I lamented not wearing a proper woolen cloak as my boots crunched across the snow. Wind snaked through the gaps in my jacket and bodice, flaying my skin like cold knives.
When I reached the Franklin Estate, smoke streamed from the chimney. The warm glow of gas lights beckoned me inside. A pair of government steam carriages waited outside. Ben was entertaining guests.
Creeping through the dead foliage, I spied William Bingham with a cadre of bankers in the parlor. Ben, acting as Temple Franklin, was playing the glass harmonica, though I could not hear the mournful tones due to the wailing wind.
Shivering beneath a wide window, my fingers were so numb I could hardly move them. I shoved them into my jacket, trying to stay warm while I wished for Bingham and his party to leave.
Time was down to the nubs. If Rowan didn't arrive before Ben killed me, then I would be without a savior.
I'd practically decided to barge into the parlor when William Bingham left. The storm was increasing in vigor, and polite guests did not risk being stranded at their hosts’.
As the steam carriages pulled away from the estate, I slipped through the front door, thankful I didn't have to use my lock picks, as my fingers were like stone. I took the pistol in my hand and set the cock.
Ben was cleaning up from his guests when I stepped into the parlor. He wore a tan vest over a white shirt that showed off his broad shoulders. He'd stacked porcelain teacups in one hand, balancing them with the other, and prepared to take them into his kitchen.
"Miss Dashkova," he said when he noticed my presence.
I dearly wanted to call him Ben, but I had to maintain a villainous distance if he were to kill me.
"Franklin," I said, infusing his name with disdain.
His eyes widened as he noticed the pistol.
"So it's as I feared," he said, still balancing the cups. "Are you here to murder me upon command of your emperor?"
My earlier acceptance of fate turned to anguish. Dying at Ben's hands was a result I'd come to understand, but the disapproval in his withering gaze wounded my soul.
I'd forgotten that I would have to make him kill me, and should I survive, there'd be no chance of reparation. Convincing him to kill me would ensure that I would never be a member of the Transcendent Society. I would be friendless and alone, forever.
The Gamayun's trap closed around my neck, stifling my breathing. To die was one thing. To live as a pariah to all sides was another.
But if I did not follow through with my plan, then first Philadelphia and later the world would crumble. Yet, if I succeeded, my sacrifice would be unknown. These paths were like ropes tied to my limbs and being yanked by two horses, driven in opposite directions.
"Yes," I said eventually. "Yes. I was sent to kill you, Benjamin Franklin."
The disappointment that sagged his shoulders nearly convinced me to relent and spill my secrets. There were many things I was capable of doing for my country, but I held Ben in the highest esteem, and crushing his spirit in this way was despicable.
With shaking hands, Ben set the teacups on the table. A saucer skipped off his palm and the tower crashed onto the floor. Porcelain shards wet with the grime of tea scattered across the expensive carpet.
"I consider myself a good judge of people, but never have I so thoroughly been duped by someone who I considered a close confidant," said Ben, barely composed, his lip
trembling with unbridled anger.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
"It was simple, as you are easily beguiled by the opposite sex," I said, stepping closer.
"Why did you do it? Why betray all that you said you held dear?" he asked.
"My son, Pavel," I lied. "The emperor threatened my son's life."
As I said the words, an echo formed in my head, recalling a previous time. They felt familiar in their scope and intent. Had I deceived a friend in a previous life? Or was this another aspect of the palimpsest of my life?
Ben's shoulders straightened as he tilted his head, coming to an internal conclusion.
The wind battered the window, distracting me for a moment. Darkness had claimed the city. I pulled the pocket watch from my jacket. It was fifteen minutes past sundown. Rowan would not be coming.
Maybe it was better that Ben killed me outright. Upon revival I would be an enemy to those I held dear. I wasn't sure I could endure that life.
As I snapped the brass face of the watch shut, Ben lunged for the pistol. In pure reaction alone, I squeezed the trigger, firing the weapon into his side.
Ben grabbed his ribs, blood leaking through his fingers staining the white shirt. I dropped the pistol on the ground.
"I'm sorry, Ben, that's not what was supposed to happen," I said numbly.
He didn't seem to hear me, or didn't care, and scooped up the pistol, grimacing in pain the whole time.
What have I done? The horror reverberated through me like an earthquake. Nothing is going as planned.
With the pistol in his grip, leaning heavily to one side, Ben advanced on me. I made one last glance towards the wide window, hoping to see Rowan's bone-white carriage, but only saw the swirling snows whipped into frenzy by the descending storm.
When Ben lifted the pistol, I nearly died of a broken heart. His face was wracked with the agony of betrayal.
The blast went off right as I tried to confess my sins. The world rotated around me, fire consuming my chest. The cold that I'd endured outside in the storm was nothing compared to the icy grip of death constricting around my soul.
Birds of Prophecy (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 3) Page 14