Nora ran a hand over her tired face, then waved at the woman.
“It’s all right.”
“First time here?”
“No.”
“Ah.” The young mother smiled; then her jaw cracked with a yawn. “They told me if you drink the water from the holy shrine, you can get healing for any ache. It’s why we’re here.” The mother shifted slightly and pointed at a small child curled up next to her in an impossible position, bottom up in the air, face down. Nora would have smiled if she hadn’t seen the burn marks on the child’s face, as if the skin had melted. She shared a knowing look with the mother, who shrugged. “I prayed for it to work. Seeing your child in pain…it haunts your sleep and waking hours. All you want is to make it go away. At least she can sleep in peace tonight.”
Nora nodded. At least one person could sleep in peace, then. Even though it looked uncomfortable as hell, children could sleep like that. Nora had seen them do it often enough.
“How about you?” the mother asked, lifting a finger from under her baby and pointing at Nora’s face. “Come for a cure?”
“I’m just passing through.”
The mother laughed silently at that, her chest heaving, disturbing her baby. The infant opened her blue eyes and frowned at her mother, working her mouth harder as if to say she was trying to do her job here. Would mother mind doing hers?
“What’s so funny?” Nora asked.
“You’re not from here, are you? There is nowhere you could pass through to. Moorfleet burned to the ground, and hard men are fighting over who gets to keep the scraps of what once was the greatest city of the north. Beyond Moorfleet, there’s only the Wightingerode. Endless wetlands filled with broken ruins until you reach the edge of the world.”
“That’s where I’m going,” Nora said softly, running a finger along the blade of her knife. The night folded in around them. “To the very edge.”
The mother yawned once more. This time she didn’t bother to hide her open mouth with her hand.
“Aren’t we all?” she murmured.
* * *
In the hours before dawn, fog hung over the Silver Lake, dulling it. They crept in long tongues toward the shoreline where Nora walked, the world turned into a clammy haze around her, the sky above her lighting its fire in a slow burn. She threw some pebbles, letting them bounce over the milky water’s surface and listened to the strange echoes in the mists.
For a while she had gone through a few paces of her old training routine. The cut and swish of her knife against unseen enemies calmed her nerves a little, but it also made her itch for Diaz to counter. So she stopped and walked along the lakeshore, kept walking, kept thinking about all the shit that had gone wrong in the last year. She had figured she’d had a problem at home, and had sought to fix that problem by escaping its reach, but instead she had kind of blundered aimlessly and fucked things up and made it all worse. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t just her fucking things up. Seemed like everyone was busy stirring their own share of the mess as well, huh, Master Diaz? She threw another stone, listened to it skip across the lake.
“Hey.”
Nora turned around. She didn’t jump in fright; it wasn’t like she wasn’t expecting someone to eventually track her down. Just that the someone who had wasn’t who she wanted to see emerging from the mists, but…boo-hoo, right? Life’s not fair.
“Hey, Shade,” she said. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I think Garreth has a cold. He’s snoring like he’s tearing the world apart.” They both smiled. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
She shook her head. “For a different reason, though.”
“You’re thinking about all those times in your life you didn’t understand what the fuck was going on and no one bothered to explain it?” Shade looked across the lake. “Everyone has the same kind of thoughts in the shifting times between night and dawn.”
“Is that so?”
He nodded but fell silent, content to stand next to her on the shore, watching the swirling gray mass recede and lap forward in amorphous waves.
“You want to go swimming?” Shade asked.
She shot him a questioning look.
He shrugged. “What? Exercise helps relieve stress. Makes you feel calmer. Don’t tell me you don’t know that.”
“Water’s cold.” Nora’s eyes narrowed on Shade’s too-innocent expression.
“Yeah, I guess. But we could keep each other warm.”
Nora laughed quietly. “Could we?”
“Movement always helps.” Shade leaned in and kissed her. His lips and tongue were hot, making her feel the chill that had crept under her skin. He pulled back a little. “I know it’s not me you want. I know I remind you of Shin—things you don’t want to be reminded of. But I really like you, Nora.”
“I really like you too.” Her voice broke a little.
He flashed a smile and his hand dropped to her hip.
“You and Owen are my only friends in this whole fucked-up world. I can see you both carrying around all this pent-up tension, and I want to do something to help you blow off steam. But look, you’re better than me at swords practice, and Owen’s better than me at philosophical debate. There is one thing I’m pretty good at, though, at least one thing I know I’m better at than either of you. I’m trained for it. And I want to try that with you if you’ll let me. That’s all.”
“A friendly fuck, huh?” Nora nearly laughed again.
“There’s been too little friendly fucking in your experience, if you ask me.” She stiffened. “I’m sorry. Too real?”
“Yeah, a bit.” She swallowed. “Shade, you don’t have to be a stand-in. I don’t want to make you feel…uncomfortable.”
He laughed, then leaned in once more to kiss her forehead, a big, wet smack of a kiss.
“Making out with you doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Nervous, yes. But the good, anticipatory kind of nervous.” Earnest now, his hand caressing her cheek, his parted lips teasingly close to her own. “What do you say? It’s your call.”
Mist crept up around her heels, touching her shins, her knees, gray fog sliding over her limbs. She lifted her face, brushing her open mouth against his in answer, grabbing a handful of blond so he couldn’t pull away. Slipped her arm around his waist; his hands locked on her hips; took a deep breath of Shade. He smelled like rain. Rain on her skin, he was wiry and wet, and entwined they moved in and out of each other, throwing their heads back laughing, a longish strand of her dark hair falling between them like a shard of obsidian. Then licking, sucking, tasting the salt of him, of her, of them.
If we could choose when to die, Nora thought after, we should choose this moment, this little sacrificial death inside. And maybe she was fucking things up again, but she could work with that.
Chapter 7
Hours later, dawn broke gradually, a white drop of sunlight peeking shyly through the mists still hanging over the lake. Nora was leaning against the back wall of the sanctuary, unheeding the endless drone of litany at the front. The sacred heart of the shrine was built around the cairn that Kandar had erected for his lover after he had slaughtered her with the Living Blade, remade through the sacrifice of their own child. Strange. The origin story of this shrine negated motherhood and family so utterly, and yet those that came here sought exactly those things.
Nora felt sorry for Prophetess Hin, that woman’s bones resting under the cairn eternally, always having to give and give, even though she had already given all. So many prayers, so much pain. Here at her grave the pilgrims had fashioned a place of beauty and peace and wonder. Above the cairn, in the middle of the stone house, stood a well-tended cherry tree. The pilgrims washed clear water over its feet; its roots dug into the earth, under the foundation of the shrine, and deep into the bones of the prophetess.
But above, it drew its nourishment from the daylight itself, slanting golden through a tinted glass dome. Nora had never seen anything like it anywhere else, not even in the Temple of t
he Wind. The dome far surpassed anything builders could make today. Each pane of glass was fitted and held by ironwork that appeared seamless from where Nora was standing, breaking the dome into an abstraction of an opening flower.
In spring, Nora knew, the tree beneath the dome blossomed prettily, and the sanctuary filled with the silky pale blossoms, carried ever farther under the shuffling feet of the women who came here, and in the sweaty palms of their children. Now, in autumn, it shed its leaves, crisp and crackling to the touch, golden and red in sunset hues swept up in heaps around the cairn and tumbling into the first rows of pews. Nora fingered the scarf that had been made for her, sporting similar colors. Fire touched everything.
A long queue of women and children reached from the entrance to the small podium where Caleddin stood officiating blessings and his priests distributed sips of the holy water in leaking wooden beakers. He had a powerful voice that dripped with mercy and benediction, reaching into every corner of the large hall and into the hearts of his largely female audience. Though Caleddin had been talking since before dawn, Nora hadn’t heard one slip in his tongue or a roughness in his voice. He was well trained. Up on the podium he stood transformed, no longer the angry little man with the fat nose and protruding lips. The warm light touched his cheek like a feather, making a halo where it kissed his hair. He stood taller before his flock, a wise shepherd, fleecing them ever so softly.
Owen entered the sanctuary, found her, and came over.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Nora shook her head.
“Not just a penny. It costs twenty-five pennies to get a sip of holy water. Which, of course, doesn’t work as well if you don’t get a prayer ribbon to go with it. They cost three silver coins. Then accommodation for the night costs a silver coin per person, regardless of age. But the longer you stay to pray your devout prayers, the more silver you have to pay for the night. Gods, this place truly is a silver mine. No wonder the Guardian of the North usually lives here. Diaz will be filthy rich. Poor Calla with her endless rounds of gifting and caring could never earn so much money, even if she tried.”
“I take it you didn’t sleep well?”
“Why? Do I sound bitter?”
“No, it was the dark shades under your eyes that gave you away.”
Nora shrugged.
“You know how many guards this shrine has?” she asked Owen, who shook his head. “Twelve,” she answered, smug that she knew something he didn’t for once. “I counted them this morning.”
“So?”
“So it’s unguarded by men or walls and overflowing with riches. With lots of women and children to boot. Not a good combination.”
“You think someone would actually attack the most holy shrine in the north?”
“No.” Nora turned to look at her twin brother. “I’m thinking why hasn’t anyone attacked already?”
“Um…because it’s holy?”
“I love you for honestly thinking that. When will we be leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Prophetess be thanked.”
Owen blinked owlishly. “Maybe you should tell Master Caleddin of the threat you see. Or even better, tell Master Diaz, Guardian of the North.”
“Yeah, maybe I will.”
The conversation died. They stood together for a while, watching the long line of women, then left the sanctuary. The autumn day was brighter now, reaching midday, and a blue sky stretched over the trees. The smell of smoke hung on the breeze. A few of the pilgrims who lived here had raked the fallen leaves in the communal square together and were burning them in a wrought-iron basket. The fire attracted most of the children, who ran from the tediousness of standing in line with their mothers. They were repeatedly reprimanded by the pilgrims, mostly elderly men, and their mothers, who kept calling them back. But their gleeful faces when the sticks they held into the flames started to glow red made Nora smile. If Caleddin were clever, she thought, he would be selling roasted chestnuts and stickbread, too.
“What were you thinking about?” Owen asked. “Other than money and massacre.”
“About mothers.”
“Ah. I see.” Owen peered across the lake, eyes seeing past the years to when their foster mother was still alive. “Mother Sara always took you here when Rannoch and I went to Dernberia to market.”
“Yes.”
“Is it like you remember?”
“No,” Nora sniffed. “It’s lonelier. And worse.”
She watched his reaction. He swallowed her words, and they must have left a bitter taste on his tongue, because he chose to say nothing. They walked next to each other, maybe an inch parting them, taking in the scenery, reaching the shoreline of the Silver Lake. Owen sat down cross-legged, oblivious to the damp sand. Nora did the same and sighed.
“So what are our options, Owen?”
He groaned. “You want to discuss this now?”
“Number one: knife Bashan in the back.” Nora held up her thumb, counting.
“No,” Owen said sharply. “We’ve been through this. I don’t want you to do that.”
Nora threw a handful of wet sand into the water lapping close to their feet.
“You don’t think he deserves it?”
“You don’t deserve having to do that. And it wouldn’t solve the problem long term.”
“Fine. Number two: I, er…elope with Shade, leaving Bashan no willing sacrifice.”
Nora didn’t mention the other option: leaving Bashan without a sacrifice by killing Shade. It had occurred to her during the night as she stared up at the ceiling in the dormitory. Sometimes when you looked into the fault lines of the world, they looked back into yours and prompted thoughts that shouldn’t be. Sure, she had dealt out death before. But that had been different. It had to be. She wasn’t sure her hand could strike a blow aimed at Shade’s heart and not falter. In the arena she had told herself that it wasn’t Shade. It was Suranna through him. Still she had parried blow for blow, seeking a way to disarm and deflect rather than maim or kill. Yet in the darkness, she remembered: to spare your brother’s life, you would have killed Shade. To protect one, you would destroy the other. And truly, what was one life against many? Shade’s life for the good of the world they could save from Bashan’s domination? But that’s how Suranna thought, too. For the good of the entire community, obey the rules, give over your children to the god of fire. Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice.
“The problem is, where could we run to?” Owen’s reasoning pulled her back out of the gloom. “We can’t travel southeast to the empire. We can’t go south because of Queen Suranna. We’d have to stay here in the north. And he’d hunt us down. And besides, do you even want…to elope with Shade?”
Did she? Nora liked Shade, true. If you had to run, it was easier if you had someone to run to, instead of from. Nora had read that in the Book of Jorg. She threw another handful of sand, watching the wet lump sink below the water’s surface, sending out small ripples. Could she run to Shade, share her life with him? Marriage as a destination? And would Shade even want to? Be more willing to be with her than volunteer for death to remake the Blade his father so desperately desired? What an option. Hey, Shade, would you rather be stuck with me for the rest of your life or die?
“We’re considering possibilities, no? It’s one we should leave open.” She didn’t look at Owen but held up her index finger, still counting. “You know the exact location of the Blade?”
“No. Only Diaz and Bashan know.”
“Could we find out, run to it and find the dormant Blade before Bashan does?”
Owen raised his eyebrows.
“It’s in wight-held lands, Nora.” He spoke as though she had just said something ridiculous. “Besides, how would we find out? It’s not like I could seduce Diaz or Bashan to tell me. Neither could you, I think. At least not if you’re still not talking to Diaz. And even if we possibly could make it through the wight territories alive before Diaz and Bashan do, what would we do with the
dormant Blade? It’ll be liquid like quicksilver, if we can trust the legends.”
“I don’t know. Scoop it up somehow and dump it in the ocean?”
Owen snorted. “I don’t think that’s likely.”
Nora held up a third finger anyway. “We’ll just have to improvise, then. That’s all I got. How about you, mastermind?”
Owen buried his face in the palms of his hands.
“I don’t know how to destroy it. Maybe only Dalem knew how to.”
“Yeah, let’s go ask one of the ancient gods. Thanks for your powerful weapon and all, but how do we get rid of it? Also, Dalem was the first god Scyld killed. So we’d have to resurrect him in order to ask. We’d be doing just what Suranna wants, raising the gods. Unless you have any necromantic skills I don’t know of.”
“I thought you were the Dark Twin, Nora. Your face looks like Lara anyway. Sure you haven’t got a direct line to Death Herself?”
“Certainly feels that way, sometimes.”
Nora allowed herself a small smile at his attempted joke, but she touched the callused scar tissue on the side of her face surreptitiously. The old twin curse. Another thing that followed her wherever she went, like the threat of marriage. She wondered briefly whether Owen chose his cotton-white clothing consciously, reflecting her washed-out degrees of charcoal black with light. She glanced over him, close enough beside her that they touched. He wore a tight-fitting white shirt and a dark brown fur tunic matching the shade of earth of his trousers and boots. Dark fuzz lined his jaw. He frowned at her.
“You don’t think I really believe you’re the Dark One, do you?”
It was probably just a subconscious choice on his part, she decided. Finally able to wear something other than black, he wore the exact opposite.
“I don’t,” she told herself more than him.
Owen shifted, stretching out his legs, leaning back, and closing his eyes against the sun glittering like glass shards on the water.
“There is another option,” he said slowly.
“I’m listening.”
On the Wheel Page 9