by Katie Cross
“Leda … I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes shone, but she swallowed the emotions back. “Ever since it happened, I’ve just … I can’t bear to sit in an office.” She looked away, entwining her hands together in front of her. “I want to, but I can’t. It feels too soon. Anyway, nothing is the same. So I’ve volunteered all my time helping the Apothecaries when wounded Guardians come in. I can always work later, once things have settled down. Working with the wounded makes me feel like maybe I’m … I don’t know … helping my brother.”
Leda’s deferral of work shocked me, but for her to volunteer with wounded witches—with germs and blood and remnants of Almorran potions? That astounded me. Her Foresight Curse would wreak havoc on her in such a teeming crowd. Three weeks ago I would have expected her brother’s death to make her hyper-focused and more sarcastic, but it hadn’t. She had changed. I could see it in her sad eyes.
That’s grief, I thought. It alters and molds us all. I wanted to reach out and heal her aching heart, to take away her pain so she didn’t have to face the darkness I knew so well. But I couldn’t, and the helplessness prickled in my chest.
“I can’t bear to talk about it anymore,” she said. “I feel like it’s taking over my life some days.”
Although she spoke gently, I understood the command. Don’t bring it up all the time, her wary gaze seemed to say.
“I understand.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “I knew you would. Come on. Let’s go get you into some of your clothes.” She glanced down at my new sandals with a raised eyebrow, blinking her tears back. “What are those things?”
I grinned. “They’re wonderful,” I said. “A slave girl in the West brought them to me. They fit my feet and feel like I’m going barefoot. I’m going to keep wearing them.”
“They’re a fashion choice from our enemies,” she pointed out, as pragmatic as usual.
“They’re functional,” I countered. She opened her mouth to argue but couldn’t. She gave in with a light huff and a lift of her nose.
“Fine,” she said, looping an arm around my waist. “But don’t be angry if it never catches on.”
“Isn’t it fabulous?” Camille asked, spreading her hands to indicate the bounty of food on the Witchery table. “I went to Brecken’s mother’s house. Tabby has been storing up a massive pantry for years, and they’re living the high life.”
Slices of cheddar cheese—a rarity since the destruction of the dairy farms in the Western Covens—lay on a plate around thinner slices of sourdough bread. We drank water, as there was no sugar to spare for lemonade or Fina’s famous fizzy drink. A few pickles and a small bowl of cucumbers rounded off the meal. Simple, but better than the same bread I’d been eating for a month in the West.
Leda had been grilling me with questions ever since I had finished my bath, checked in with Papa, and climbed the beloved winding stairs to our turret home. I didn’t mind a willing audience. Despite the nature of my visit, there was much about the Western Network that I could have enjoyed if I hadn’t been a prisoner. Talking about it made it seem less like a horrible place and more like a place in horrible circumstances.
Camille leaned back in her chair. “What did you miss the most about home?”
“Papa,” I said. “And my friends, of course.”
Camille beamed. “That’s what I thought.”
“Where’s Priscilla?” I asked, glancing around. Clothes spouted from Camille’s side of the turret in a veritable disaster, which meant Priscilla hadn’t been helping her organize her wardrobe.
Leda grinned in a sly way. “Probably in the Eastern Network. I think there’s a budding crush between her and Niko. Your father sent her over as part of the alliance to help teach the East Guards transformation. They’re terrible at sword work, apparently, so Priscilla is teaching them a different way to fight that uses other strengths, like disguising themselves during battle. Anyway, the young High Priest and our lovely Priscilla get along really well.”
“Really?” I asked, mulling the news over as I chewed. “How very interesting.” Priscilla would make a lovely High Priestess, and all the witches in the Eastern Network would fawn over her red hair. She wasn’t a local commoner for Niko to hand fast, the way tradition in the East dictated, but I had a feeling a lot of traditions would change in the East after the war ended.
Camille had loaded her plate with a couple of slices of bread but hadn’t touched them yet. She stared at the table, biting her lower lip while her fingers fidgeted with her napkin.
“You all right, Camille?”
She jumped. “What?”
“Calm yourself,” Leda drawled, popping a crispy slice of cucumber in her mouth. “Why are you so jumpy?”
Camille hesitated before she pulled something out of her pocket and slid it over her wrist. My eyes widened.
“That’s a cord of engagement,” Leda whispered, stricken.
“That’s exactly what it is,” Camille said, covering her face with a happy squeal. “It’s a cord of engagement. Oh, girls! I’m not supposed to tell you yet, but I can’t help it. I’m not engaged … I’m married!”
Among her many words, which sank into my brain with all the weight of a boulder, came a strange kind of comprehension. Leda and I shared a glance of utter disbelief.
“What?” Leda snapped. “You’re … you can’t possibly … I mean … you’re—”
“Married,” I said, finishing what Leda couldn’t. “You’re … you’re married?”
“Yes! Don’t act so surprised,” Camille said, breathless from laughing. “Well, I guess you should be at least a little surprised. We didn’t say a word to a single soul.”
“When did this happen?” I asked, scrambling to recover my wits. “How … where?”
“Two days ago. We didn’t tell anyone we were going to do it! We just slipped away to Newberry and had the High Witch there perform the hand fasting ceremony.”
Leda’s forehead ruffled. “How did you keep it from me? I never saw anything!”
“We decided it on a whim. It wasn’t planned. We just … we just did it. Besides, you were occupied trying to see Bianca’s future and with all the sadness over your brother. It may not sound like it would be, but it was an incredibly romantic hand fasting, running away and not telling anyone.”
“But what about all your plans?” Leda asked, gripping the edge of the table and leaning forward. “You had your hand fasting all planned out. The flowers and recipes and … your dress! What about your dress?”
She shrugged. “I helped Michelle with her hand fasting, so it’s like I was able to enjoy one of my own. Besides, does the dress really matter?” Her cherubic face, spattered with freckles, grew sober. “We don’t even know if we’re going to make it through this war alive. I don’t care about flowers or trellises. I almost lost Brecken once, and I would never have had the chance to be his wife. Dresses seem a bit … I don’t know … ridiculous when you think about it.”
“That’s the most adult thing I’ve ever heard you say,” I said. Leda stared at the table, wide-eyed.
“It’s the most adult I’ve ever had to be,” Camille said with a smile, but it wavered. Her eyes flickered momentarily to Leda. “This war is asking a lot of sacrifices from all of us. Some witches are giving up their lives. I figure I can forgo a beautiful hand fasting ceremony to spend this time as Brecken’s wife.” Her voice dropped, and she looked at her hands. “I’m lucky to still have him.”
I glanced around, seeing the Witchery in a new light, one that cast long shadows without Camille’s bubbly, disorganized presence. What would it be like with just Leda up here? No more clothes scattered on the floor or perfume bottles littering the fireplace mantle.
“Where will you stay?” I asked.
She cast her eyes around with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know yet. Brecken had a lot going on with the West Guards gathering near the Borderlands, so he had to leave right after the ceremony and hasn’t been back.”
A blush filled her cheeks. “We haven’t exactly had any time together as husband and wife.”
Leda’s spine had gone stiff. Her cheeks barely moved when she spoke. “When are you going to tell his family?”
Camille didn’t seem to notice the change that had come over Leda. I kicked Leda’s shin. She glared at me.
“We’re going to tell his parents when he returns this morning,” Camille said, oblivious to—or ignoring—Leda’s life crisis.
“I’m sure his mother will be ecstatic,” I said.
Camille beamed. “Yes! Yes, I think so too. Now I finally have a family that wants me around and a mother to share things with. I’m the luckiest girl in all of Antebellum.”
“I’m very happy for you, Camille,” I said, propping my chin on my hand. “It’s wonderful.”
Leda mumbled something incoherent.
“I’m a little worried about where we’ll stay since we can’t live in Chatham City,” Camille said, “and I certainly can’t stay with him and all the other Guardians in the Wall. I may ask Mrs. L if there’s a small room that Brecken and I could have until … well, until we know what’s going to happen with the war and everything. But I think I’ll just end up moving in with his mother and father. It’s safer in Newberry.”
“Newberry isn’t too far,” I said, taking her hands and squeezing them affectionately, even though the idea of Camille moving to Newberry sent a dozen cold pinpricks through my heart. “I wish I could have been there, but I’m glad you did it. So glad.”
“Thank you.”
We embraced, and I felt the soft texture of her dress against my arms. I held her extra tight, inhaling her floral scent. When she pulled away, she swiped a stray tear off her cheek.
“Angie and Bettina will be furious, of course,” she said with a little laugh, “but I don’t even care. Brecken is all that matters now.”
“Your name will be different,” I said. Camille grinned.
“Camille Jameson,” she said. “Isn’t that a wonderful name? Camille Jameson. It’s perfect.”
Leda stood up. “I have to go,” she said. “I … I have to go.”
She transported away, leaving us in stunned silence. Camille’s eyes filled with tears.
“I thought that would happen,” she whispered, leaning back in her chair. “I knew Leda wouldn’t take the news well, especially after her brother’s death. She’s terrified of losing someone again. It’s why she tried so hard to see your future, even when she knew she didn’t have the power.”
Leda’s gaunt emotional state stood as a chilling reminder of the cost of war. “She just loves you,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “And me. Besides, you know Leda better than anyone. She doesn’t handle change well, and you’ve been her friend all her life. She probably just needs to get used to the idea.”
Camille smiled through her tears. “It’s a sign of how much she loves me.”
“Leda loves you more than she loves anyone else, I think. She just doesn’t know how to show it. I know how she feels,” I said. “I went through the same thing when Michelle got engaged, remember?”
Camille nodded. “She’ll come around,” she said with a sweet smile.
“When are you going to go see his parents?” I asked. She glanced at an old clock on the wall, the color draining from her face.
“Oh, dear!” she cried. “I need to get ready! I’m supposed to meet him right now.”
Her hands flew to her hair, but I pulled them away.
“You look lovely.”
She smiled, letting her hands drop to her lap. “Thanks. We’re going to stay the night in Newberry. Will you tell Leda not to expect me back? If you see her again. She’s probably hiding in a closet somewhere. She does that when she’s upset.”
“Of course.” I flashed her a saucy grin. “Enjoy your night.”
A fresh flare of color flooded her cheeks. She pressed her lips into a prim smile. “Yes, of course. I’m sure dinner with his parents will be lovely.”
“Right,” I drawled. “Dinner. Lovely.”
She smiled with a coy twinkle in her eye. “Merry part, Bianca. I’m so glad you’re back. Have a good evening. I know I shall. Eventually.”
With a little whisper of wind, Camille disappeared in a transportation spell. I stared at the spot where she’d been standing with twin feelings of joy and loss.
“Good for you, Camille,” I said with a little smile. “Good for you.”
She Sought the Darkness
After visiting with my friends, I returned to the apartment, grateful to see my canopied bed again. I ditched the Volare and Viveet in my room, took a luxurious bath, and slipped into my own clothes with a contented sigh. Reeves bustled in the background, cleaning all the places I’d touched since I returned home. I detected a happy tilt in his usual straight-lipped expression.
Ten minutes after I settled on the divan to peruse the Chatterer, a heavy hand on my shoulder startled me out of an article about the retreating South Guards in the Eastern Network.
“Hey, B,” Papa said. “Isadora just woke up. She’s asked to speak with the two of us.”
I twisted around to look into his eyes. “Really?”
He nodded. “We need to go now. The Apothecary doesn’t think she has much longer to live.”
“Of course,” I said, setting aside the newsscroll and standing. “Let’s go.”
A fire crackled in the background of Stella’s private chamber despite the hot summer air, and the Apothecary stood near it, several glasses set out in front of him. A small cauldron brewed over the hottest part of the flames. Sweat trickled down his face. His eyes narrowed in deep concentration.
Papa and I approached her bed with quiet steps. Isadora didn’t look any different, except she seemed thinner and weary-looking. Her foggy, different-colored eyes gazed our direction with her usual keen intelligence, though her movements were weak. Her time as Juka didn’t seem to have had any lasting effect on her, and I wondered if she had fought it in ways that Juba didn’t.
A heavy blanket covered her torso, tucked snugly under her chin. Firelight danced on her pale, nearly translucent skin. Sanna lay next to her, her eyes closed and breathing even, their shoulders pressed together and hands intertwined. The red dragon’s tail drooped down from the roof outside. Her gleaming talons dug into the shingles, sending a spray of dirt skittering to the ground when she shifted. The snap and hiss of her two children playing as they circled in the air filled the quiet in an oddly reassuring way.
“Isadora,” Papa said, half-sitting on the mattress. He reached out and enveloped her tiny, arthritic hand in his. “I am so glad to see you awake.”
She managed a tired, thin-lipped smile. “So am I. It’s all thanks to Bianca, I believe.”
“A fairy, actually,” I said, recalling my agreement with Dafina with a bitter taste in my mouth. No doubt the fairies would come calling any day now. Papa shot me an odd look.
“Can we do anything to make you more comfortable?” he asked, turning back to Isadora. She shook her head, her white hair shining.
“No,” she said. “I’m old and ready to die. I haven’t much time. Only allow me to speak with both of you.” Her eyes drifted to me. “And then with Bianca alone. She and I have much to discuss.”
Papa nodded, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. I flinched. Isadora might speak casually about death, but I couldn’t take it so easily. What would we do without her to help us? She’d seen the Central Network through many rough times. Heading into the future without her guidance felt like walking into a dark tunnel.
“Of course,” Papa said. “Have you seen something that could be helpful to the Central Network?”
“Perhaps.” Isadora squeezed his hand. “There is more you have to learn, and it is not mine to tell. Soon, however, you will know.”
“Do you have any advice for me?” Papa asked.
To my surprise, she smiled. “Do what you do best, Derek Black, and listen to those instincts
of yours. Trust me. You may be surprised at the avenues salvation takes.”
A knock sounded at the door, and Stella slipped inside. She smiled warmly at Isadora and me before turning to Papa, her hand still on the doorknob.
“Tiberius is requesting your presence, High Priest. Mabel is advancing the front line. The entire West Guard army is moving through the Borderlands toward the Western Covens.”
Papa stood, covering Isadora’s hand with his. “Thank you, Isadora. I’m glad you’re back home. Try to get some rest.”
“Oh, Derek?” Isadora called out. He paused halfway to the door and spun around, his eyebrows lifted in question. “I know you’ve wondered about the location of the Book of Light,” she said. My heart nearly stopped. Papa froze.
“Yes,” he said.
“I believe you’ve had it all along.”
Her frosty eyes bore deep into his. A thousand questions rose in my throat. Where was it? What did she mean she believed he’d had it all along? Impossible! I’d personally scoured Chatham Castle—and Papa’s office—at least three times.
Isadora smiled gently. “Good luck to you, Highest Witch.” The flicker of confusion in Papa’s gaze lingered for only a few moments before it softened into uncertain surprise.
With one last bow, Papa exited, his brow furrowed in thought. Isadora turned to me with her queer eyes as soon as the door closed behind Papa. Her eyebrows lowered, giving her a solemn, pained expression.
“I saw what was going to happen to you that night in the caves, Bianca,” she said, delving right into business. When Mabel killed her mother, Isadora had been the only other witch present, the only one who could truly understand how horrible it had been to watch Angelina’s death.
“I didn’t warn you beforehand about what Mabel could do because I thought I could prevent it,” she continued, “but I wasn’t strong enough. Now I think I wasn’t supposed to stop it from happening. Fate has a funny way of taking her own course.”
“Did you see Mabel’s mind too?”
She shook her head. “Only that she formed a connection with you through Almorran magic. Your thoughts are your own. She has created darkness and confusion in an already grieving, troubled heart. That’s all I can detect.”