Nightblood

by Elly Blake

  He rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together, staring at me for several seconds before saying, “There may be something.” A slow smile spread over his face. “Yes, I do believe I have something in mind. It may not work. And there is a certain amount of risk to you. Do you still want to try it?”

  Kai cleared his throat. “Your icicle of a king isn’t going to like this,” he warned.

  I ignored Kai and gave Brother Thistle a determined look. “You weren’t really in any doubt, were you? Just tell me what to do and it’s done.”

  “The tower,” he replied with an eager glitter in his eyes, “at midnight.”

  SEVEN

  A FEW MINUTES BEFORE MIDNIGHT, I was at the tower door, pushing until the stubborn oak yielded with a groan. I slipped inside, my boots stirring up a cloud of long-settled dust. For a few seconds, the sound of my sneezing ricocheted through the empty foyer, the echoes profanely loud in the solemn dark.

  My flame-filled palm lit the way up narrow stone steps, each tread worn into a smiling curve by the passage of many feet. I climbed until the stairs ran out, the roof opening to a cloudless, star-strewn sky. The wind fought the fire in my palm, so I let it die, waiting a minute for my eyes to adjust. Deep shadows marked the embrasures in the six-foot protective wall hugging all four sides of the tower.

  Though I couldn’t see much more than an undulating silhouette, I heard Brother Thistle’s robes whipping in the rising wind. He stood on the westward side of the tower, his back to me. I came up beside him, peering out at the night, knowing what we would see in daylight: the barren patch of land where we used to practice my sparring, and past that, a thick pine forest choked with snow.

  “Remember when I couldn’t even manage to burn a shrub?” I asked softly, each word snatched and twisted by the wind.

  “How could I forget?” He turned toward me, though I felt it more than saw it. “I was constantly on my guard lest you roast me by accident.”

  “You should have been worried I’d roast you on purpose. I was quick to anger back then.”

  “Back then?” he said pointedly. When I made a sound, half laugh, half annoyance, he chuckled. “The trick for you was learning to harness your power in moments of calm, rather than relying on your temper to let it explode. As I recall, learning to ignite a candle was almost more of a challenge for you than creating a conflagration.”

  “That’s what really impressed you? The fact that I finally learned to light a candle? Nothing like setting your expectations low.”

  “Nonsense. Restraint and delicacy are the marks of complete mastery of a skill.”

  I grimaced. “Delicacy was never my strong suit.”

  “And yet you have as refined an approach in your art as any Fireblood master.”

  My cheeks heated with embarrassed pleasure. “Thank you.”

  It was touching to receive praise from my teacher, especially in the very place where I’d started to learn. I felt a sense of rightness, of a circle being completed, and my heart lightened.

  He cleared his throat, a touch awkward after giving a compliment. “Provide us some light, Miss Otrera, if you please. We have work to do, and we need light and focus. I am glad you persuaded the prince he would only be a distraction.”

  “Me too.” I sensed that I’d need my entire focus for this. I relit my palm, holding it low against the wall to protect the flame from the wind.

  Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a silver box covered with engravings. The firelight painted the lid orange as he unlatched it and reached long, thin fingers into the velvet-lined interior. With infinite care, he extracted a roll of dun-colored cloth.

  “Be careful,” he said, offering the roll to me. “Do not drop it.”

  I extinguished the fire in my palm and cooled my temperature before accepting it.

  “This is the relic?” A shiver slid down my spine as I smoothed my fingertip over the stiff, almost brittle, remnant. Sudden dizziness swept over me, but I fought it off. There was nothing fine or special about the fabric itself. If I hadn’t known better, I would have guessed it was an ancient cleaning rag.

  “Yes, it is a piece of the very cloth that Sage wrapped around the goddess Cirrus when she fell to earth, exhausted from her labors.”

  I nodded. We had discussed all this beforehand, how he hoped my ability to see visions would allow me to communicate with Sage if I touched something of hers. There was even a legend that this tower was near the place where Cirrus had fallen after she imprisoned the Minax underground and created the Gate of Light to keep them from escaping. According to legend, a mortal woman, Sage, had found Cirrus and nursed her back to health. In gratitude, Cirrus had filled Sage with sunlight, giving her powers of healing and foresight.

  Even though the book had given us clues about the Gate’s general location, following its vague directions wasn’t going to be fast enough. As I considered how desperately we needed this to work, I fought a sense of panic, and my hands crushed the cloth convulsively. The fabric took my heat and offered it back to me, sending a tingling through my palms.

  “Careful, Ruby,” Brother Thistle said. He motioned to the flagstones. “You’d better sit.”

  I sat with my legs crossed, my back braced against the stone wall, then poured out just enough heat to warm myself until I was comfortable. I took a deep breath, then closed my eyes.

  “You will need to calm your mind,” Brother Thistle said. “Be open to the connection.”

  I nodded, knowing what he wanted me to do. Breathing evenly, I repeated the word of power Brother Thistle had given me when he’d trained me, waiting until a sense of stillness pervaded my mind before rubbing my hands against the cloth. I ignored every sense other than touch, feeling the cool, rough fibers. Instinctively, I poured out a touch of heat.

  Almost instantly, a sun burst behind my eyelids. “I see light!”

  “What else?” Brother Thistle asked eagerly.

  I shook my head. “Too bright. Wait.” My heart cantered into a nervous rhythm, my hands growing clammy against the cloth. “A shadow. A figure. Someone walking toward me.”

  “Tell me everything you see.” His voice grew distant.

  “The figure is tall. She’s wearing a robe. Wait, it’s not a robe, it’s a gown.” I trembled and turned my head away, struggling against the brightness that kept increasing until my head ached. The hair on my nape rose, and my stomach swooped and lifted as if I were at sea during a storm. “I feel strange.…”

  “Stay with it,” Brother Thistle’s muted voice said. “Tell me what you see.”

  A woman’s features began to materialize from the shimmering fog. “I see her. She’s smiling. She’s… beautiful. It’s not Sage, though. I think it’s—”

  I gasped and gritted my teeth as a blinding pain stabbed into my head.

  “Miss Otrera? Ruby!” Brother Thistle’s shouts faded away completely as my breath evened out and the ache faded.

  When I looked down at my hands, they were empty, the relic gone. I was standing dressed in a white robe that pooled at my feet. My arms were bare, my wrists covered in gold bands, a rope of twined gold belted around my waist. My skin seemed cooler than usual, and I felt stronger, my mind sharper.

  I couldn’t feel the Minax inside me at all. Relief swamped me, though I also felt strange. I hadn’t understood how much I’d become accustomed to its presence.

  Realizing the woman had stopped in front of me, I curtsied deep, holding my head down.

  “You may rise,” she said, her voice low and soft and wonderful. I looked up, following the lines of her gown, woven in threads of gold. Her arms were also bare, the skin dark brown and smooth. My gaze followed the elegant line of her throat, where a thick braid hung over one shoulder, my perusal ending at her eyes. I gasped and started to shake. Her eyes were made of light, with no irises or pupils. After a few moments, the light dimmed until her eyes became discs of bright gold.

  “Do not fear me,” she said. “I am Cirr
us.”

  I felt so overwhelmed, I couldn’t even manage to feel shocked. We had tried to summon Sage and had summoned a goddess instead. The power of her presence brought helpless tears to my eyes. I let them roll down my cheeks unchecked. I couldn’t seem to move to wipe them away.

  “You are Ruby Otrera,” she said, her words accented but clear.

  I could only stare, my heart exploding against my ribs. When my knees buckled, she reached out and took my upper arm in her hand.

  “You are the first mortal I have spoken to in many an age,” she said in her raw-silk voice. “Not since Sage have I communicated with another.”

  She squeezed my arm gently, and a rush of peace filled me. It was the most glorious feeling. I wanted to stay in this moment forever.

  “Sage has claimed you as her own,” she added, “and so I cherish you as I cherish her.”

  Her words filled me with a sense of delight.

  “Why did you seek me, Ruby?”

  My brow furrowed as I searched my memory. My thoughts were jumbled and confused, filled with awe at the splendor of the goddess.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted ruefully.

  She laughed, and I raised my face to the sound, as if I were basking in sunlight.

  “Mortal minds are wondrous strange! They dream of worlds, yet hold so little.” Her hand came to lift my chin. “You came to ask something of me, did you not?”

  I struggled to remember. From some great distance, I heard Brother Thistle calling my name. A sensation of cold touched my forehead and cheeks, and I thought perhaps he was putting his hands to my face. It came to me that somewhere far away, my body sat on a tower roof while my spirit traveled.

  A cold sting on my cheek shocked me from the sense of floating peace, and the urgency in his voice jolted my mind into clarity.

  “The Minax!” I exclaimed, all the threads coming together. “Eurus wants to free them.”

  Cirrus’s eyes narrowed with some emotion, dimming the light. The vision’s brightness diminished, too.

  I glanced around, suddenly fearful of darkness invading this place.

  “You have little time,” she said with a hint of warning. “You must leave here soon.”

  Brother Thistle called my name again, frantic.

  “Where is the Gate of Light?” I asked, recalling my purpose.

  She sighed. “I am not allowed to tell a mortal the location of the Gate.”

  “But Eurus is on his way there to open it!”

  She hesitated. “The Gate cannot be opened from the outside.”

  Relief surged through me. “So, we’re safe? He can’t open it?”

  She shook her head. “The Gate is battered from within. A flaw has formed. A rift that Eurus intends to widen.”

  “A rift?” My relief was short-lived. “How do we fix it?”

  “It can only be repaired by someone with the gift of sun.”

  “Sage?”

  “Sage has the gift,” she confirmed.

  “Is there a way to destroy the Minax if they do get free?”

  “A creature made by a god may be altered by a mortal, but it cannot be destroyed.”

  I closed my eyes in despair.

  She added, “But light balances darkness, and frost balances fire. The mixture of the two can have a temporary effect on the shadows.”

  I struggled to understand. “Do you mean frostfire? Frostfire weakens the Minax?”

  She gave a single nod.

  Hope surged anew. At least she had given me that much.

  “What can you tell me about the Gate?” I spoke rapidly, feeling like my hourglass was nearly empty. “If you can’t tell me its location, can you at least tell me if it still stands? Is it safe for now?”

  “I cannot interfere in mortal conflicts,” she reiterated.

  “But Eurus is interfering!”

  “My brother does not break his vow—yet. He is in mortal form, vulnerable to mortal needs and threats, so he does not break our mother’s rule of noninterference.”

  “If that’s allowed, then can you also take a mortal form to help us?”

  She shook her head. “I swore not to.”

  “All these vows! What good are they if they prevent you from helping anyone?”

  “Who are we without our vows, which are the laws we create for ourselves? Only vows keep the sun rising each morning, and the sea from covering the land. If we abandon our own rules, we are surrendering to chaos.”

  Tears gathered in my eyes again, and this time, they were not from joy but frustration. Here was a source of limitless knowledge and unfathomable power, and I couldn’t persuade her to share much of either. What could I say to get her to help?

  She cared about Sage. That much I knew.

  I laced my fingers together and took a breath. “You say you cherish Sage. She hasn’t come to me in a vision for a long time. Can you at least tell me if she’s in trouble?”

  Cirrus was silent for a moment, then nodded. She stepped close, her warmth embracing me, and touched a fingertip to my forehead. A spark of energy made me close my eyes.

  I saw another scene. A vision within a vision.

  In a stone corridor, a muscular man held a woman by the arm, tugging her along. Her dress was dirty and torn, her gait unsteady. She stumbled, her long, golden hair swaying. Her captor yanked her upright none too gently.

  “Get your paws off me, you stinking animal,” the woman snarled, shoving at him.

  I knew that voice. It wasn’t Sage, but it was someone familiar, someone whose voice usually sounded smoother, composed and cultured as she delivered sarcastic barbs.

  “Marella!” I gasped in shock.

  The guard merely chuckled and grabbed a handful of her unbound hair, twisting it until she yelped, then pushed her forward again.

  After passing a series of cells, they stopped in front of one. Inside, a woman was hunched over in a corner.

  Not Sage, either. The Sage of my visions was young, her hair gold, her hands smooth. This woman had white hair, the tangled strands matted with filth. The fingers that rested on her knees were twisted with age.

  The guard extracted a set of keys, unlocked the door, and shoved Marella in. She fell to her knees on a pile of dirty straw. The door clanged shut. She scrambled up and threw herself at the bars, as if she could pull them apart with her bare hands. Her face was as gaunt as it had been the last time I’d seen her.

  “My father is the acting regent of Tempesia!” she shouted, her violet eyes glowing with hatred. “Let me go or you’ll pay with your life!”

  Her torn gown had fallen off one shoulder, revealing a reddened area of raised skin. It looked like a burn scar. Or a brand.

  The vision dissolved.

  Once again, I found myself facing Cirrus. But the light of her eyes had dimmed. She started to fade.

  “No, wait!” I shouted. “Tell me what it means! Where’s Sage? I don’t know what you want me to do!”

  “Find her,” she said with urgency. “Help her.”

  Wind whipped against my cheeks, and the scent of pine filled my nostrils. Icy hands shook my shoulders.

  Cirrus disappeared, and the floating gold sparks in her hair turned into stars set into a cold, black sky.

  EIGHT

  “SHE’S WAKING!”

  My skin burned. I couldn’t seem to open my swollen eyelids. Thick blankets held me down.

  “Easy, easy,” Kai said, taking my shoulders. “Do you want the quilts off? No need to do battle. You nearly kicked me somewhere vital.”

  I sighed with relief when the weight came off and cool air hit my skin.

  “Better?” Kai asked, his face inches from mine when I opened my eyes.

  My voice was clogged with gravel. “You don’t put quilts on someone with a fever.”

  Relief lit his eyes. “You were shivering, Princess Grump.” He laughed and straightened. “I think she’ll be fine.”

  Brother Thistle’s voice shook as he bent over me. “Than
k Fors. And Tempus.” He swiped a hand over his face. “All the gods! I think I prayed to each one.”

  “Water?” I pleaded. My throat felt as if it had been scraped with a bundle of twigs.

  Kai supported my head as I drank, then set me back against the pillows before stepping back.

  I saw that we were in one of the abbey’s guesthouses. It was snug, with only enough room for a bed, table, and wardrobe. The room felt extra cramped since it also contained a prince and not one, but two, anxious monks: Kai, Brother Thistle, and Brother Gamut, all hovering over me.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Could you please stop looking at me like I’m dying?”

  Brother Thistle stepped back. Brother Gamut smiled and clapped his hands as if I’d said something wonderful.

  “I will go make you some of my tea,” the healer monk said as he hastened to the door. “It will make you feel much better.”

  Brother Thistle stared down at me, his tone accusing. “We were very worried. You collapsed, and I had to wake Prince Kai to carry you from the tower. In the meantime, the fever raging through the abbey has worsened. Some of the brothers and sisters are gravely ill. We thought you might be afflicted as well.”

  “I honestly feel fine. A bit sore.” I tried to stretch my spine, my muscles protesting every movement. “Kai probably dropped me when he carried me here.”

  Kai leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Only once. Maybe three times.”

  I finally noticed his appearance. His tunic was stained and his boots were dusty and scuffed. His chin was darkened by auburn whiskers, and his glittering gold-brown eyes had dark circles under them.

  “What in Sud’s name happened to you?”

  “You happened. You slept for two days, slugabed. I neglected myself for Brother Thistle’s sake. He thought you needed tending through the night.”

  “And you couldn’t find your razor in all that time?” I’d never seen him anything but clean shaven.

  “How uncharitable, Ruby. I thought you would find me dashing.” He swept a hand up and down. “My noble person haggard from taking such tender care of you.”