Inkmistress

by Audrey Coulthurst

  Hal pointed to a splatter near the edge of where the red stone met the white. “Doesn’t that look like a bear print to you?”

  I looked down, and sure enough, the marking looked just like the imprint of a bear paw tracking fresh blood onto the white floor.

  “It does,” I said with terrible wonder. I had always known our kingdom was ruled by the strong and that the crown was taken by battle to the death, but seeing it here, having it be real, it hurt. In the deepest place in my heart, I wanted the world to be a place of kindness, not brutality. Maybe Ina was better suited for the crown than I had ever imagined.

  “This site is almost sacred now,” Hal said. “It remains intact to remind us of the first battle—the first stone upon which our kingdom was built.”

  “A kingdom built on blood,” I murmured. How apt.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE DEEPER WE WENT INTO THE CASTLE, THE QUIETER it became. Fewer servants hurried past us, and the patrolling guards changed from pikemen in heavy armor to those wearing a variety of smaller weapons and lighter armor for mobility. The maze of passages seemed as though it would continue forever, until Hal led me down a narrow hallway. An unmarked wooden door stood at the end, shrouded in shadows.

  Hal knocked in a careful rhythm.

  We waited, the silence stretching out. I fidgeted uneasily. Hal hadn’t told me much about the alchemist, only that the man owed Nismae a favor Hal intended to collect on. What if he refused to help us?

  “Are you sure he’s here?” I asked a few moments later.

  “I’m sure. Sometimes he gets too absorbed in what he’s doing to answer the door. Other times, he falls asleep over his work.” Hal tested the door, but it was locked. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to handle this like I used to.” He pulled out a thin tool with a curved end and inserted it into the lock. After a few practiced twists of his fingers, the door swung open on silent hinges.

  I cast a nervous glance over my shoulder, but the hall was empty behind us.

  “Come on.” Hal gestured for me to enter.

  The sun slanted in through a wall of arching windows on the south side of the room. I squinted until my eyes adjusted. In front of the windows stood a series of workbenches covered in an astonishing array of plants, vials, and substances, many of which I recognized. My heart lifted. Something about the place gave me comfort—perhaps the familiarity of so much of what surrounded us. I knew what to do with these things.

  “I’ll go see if he’s in his rest chamber,” Hal said, pointing to a different door than the one we’d come in through.

  “I’ll wait here,” I said, curious to explore more of the workshop.

  Shelves spanned from floor to ceiling on the wall opposite the windows. The contents seemed entirely random. Some books stood vertically and others were stacked haphazardly on their sides, all interspersed with empty vials in every size, baskets filled with dry herbs, and other relics I didn’t recognize.

  I moved closer to the shelves, intrigued by something purple and sparkly. My breath caught when I saw what it was. A dried fire flower lay preserved in a glass tube, the petals in far more ragged condition than the ones I’d carried in my satchel before Nismae stole it. A pang of longing struck me. I missed my cave, my flowers, my herbs. I missed home, but it felt so distant now.

  “He must be somewhere in here,” Hal said, reentering the workshop.

  Something screeched overhead, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. An enormous raccoon peered down from a high shelf, squinting at us. He stretched, yawning as though we’d woken him from a nap.

  I backed up swiftly to Hal’s side. The raccoon clambered down, knocking over a couple of empty bottles on his way. He scurried across the room, already transforming before he reached the workbench, taking the form of a tall man wearing simple robes, the sleeves carefully bound to keep them out of his potion work. He had salt-and-pepper hair shorn close to his head and facial hair of a similar length and color. As soon as he donned the spectacles sitting on the table, his expression changed from one of sleepy confusion to shock.

  “Eywin,” Hal said, his tone neutral. Only a twitch in his jaw betrayed his feelings.

  “Phaldon!” The man walked toward Hal slowly, adjusting his glasses as if to be sure his eyes told the truth. Sentiment swept over his features until he seemed near tears. “I can’t believe you returned.”

  Hal glanced away, like he couldn’t stand to see the genuine emotion on the man’s face. “I’m here to collect on the debt owed for Nismae sparing your life.” His voice was flat.

  Eywin looked genuinely confused. “What debt?”

  “Nismae told me you chose the king over us, but she spared you when we left because you’re our blood.” Hal’s brows drew together.

  A shock traveled through me. “Wait, you’re related?” I’d thought Nismae was the only mortal family Hal had.

  Eywin peered at me over his spectacles. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced.”

  “My name is Asra,” I told him.

  “Very nice to meet you, dear. Yes, to answer your question. Hal and Nismae’s mother was my older sister.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Hal said bitterly. “Not when you were partly responsible for sending Nis on a mission meant to kill her.”

  Eywin sighed. “That was a misunderstanding.”

  “How was it a misunderstanding to let the king send your niece on a deadly mission you knew about?” Hal asked, his voice rising. “You’re part of the king’s council. Only a monster would send his own niece to die.”

  I touched Hal’s arm softly, trying to steady him. His life in Corovja had been far more tangled up with the crown than I’d ever known. Hopefully there weren’t any darker reasons why he’d kept this from me, but now I understood why he hadn’t wanted to come back. Guilt made my heart heavy. He’d returned only to help me.

  “That’s not quite what happened,” Eywin said, rubbing one of his temples. “I had no say over anything Nismae was being assigned to do outside this workshop. I never wanted any harm to come to her.”

  “She worked for you. She said you knew about the mission,” Hal accused.

  Eywin took a slow breath, looking up as he exhaled. “I knew about the mission, but I don’t believe it was intended to kill her. The king is no fool—he would never have tried to do away with his best assassin, or an assistant he knew I needed to continue my research. The king has always valued my work, especially the advances Nismae and I made together. He’s been good to our family. She didn’t have to turn against him.”

  I glanced between them, wondering what research and advances Eywin was talking about. I pulled my shadow cloak more tightly around my shoulders, grateful for the magic shielding it provided. There was no telling what this man could see in me, and like Nismae, he seemed to be someone who would know how to use my blood if he could get his hands on it.

  “So you weren’t part of the group that sent Nismae to the Zir Canyon,” Hal said. His voice faltered. “She said you were. She said that’s why she left—because everyone she trusted had turned against her.”

  “Oh, Nismae.” Eywin shook his head sadly. “Always with the secrets. Always with the story that suits her.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hal asked, confusion and hurt battling in his eyes.

  “Your blood,” Eywin said. “The thing your sister so foolishly abandoned the crown to protect.”

  A wave of horror flooded through me. Why had they wanted Hal’s blood?

  Hal stared at him, equally aghast. “But . . . why?”

  “While seeking the Fatestone, we discovered its creator was able to use his blood to temporarily bestow his magical gifts on mortals. We hoped to see if it could be done with other demigods, since there hasn’t been a bloodscribe in hundreds of years.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat tight. As far as I knew, my blood was the only kind that could be used that way, but I wasn’t about to volunteer that information. Thankfully, neither was Hal.
>
  “The king has the power of the gods. Why would he need those abilities?” I asked.

  “Channeling the magic of the gods drains the king’s energy. If someone used demigod blood to give him additional abilities, he wouldn’t have to use his own magic to sustain those enchantments or waste his own capacity on channeling those gifts from the gods. Thus, his power would be augmented. An enchantment is sustained by the caster, not the person or object imbued with magic,” Eywin explained.

  I knew that last part from my work with Miriel, but I hadn’t thought about what it would mean in the heat of a battle between Ina and the king. Dread made my stomach heave. Nismae would use my blood to strengthen Ina, while the enchantments themselves would be tied to her. That meant the only way to break them would be to kill or disable Nismae during the battle. Would the king know to do that? Could Hal stand aside and let that happen? Could I?

  “So we decided to see if we could replicate those kinds of enchantments using the blood of other demigods,” Eywin continued. “Naturally, the king’s councillor Raisa was happy to lend hers. Nismae was sent to the Zir Canyon to obtain a vial of blood from an earth demigod the king had known as a child, which is where she was ambushed.”

  “You’re saying the king had nothing to do with that ambush?” Hal said doubtfully.

  “I’m saying that I didn’t,” Eywin responded. “That snake who used to train the guard corps was part of it. He had the king’s ear more than I did. But what’s important is that the last demigod we knew of—”

  “Was me,” Hal said, his understanding dawning.

  “Yes. I had planned to discuss it with you and ask your permission before Nismae returned from her mission,” Eywin said.

  “But I was in the city those days, down in the Miners’ Quarter. . . .”

  “Yes. We couldn’t find you, and then Nismae came back early with a few more scars and a lot less loyalty to the king. Then she found out we planned to ask for your blood. That was the end of that,” Eywin said, his voice weary. “I’d hoped she’d always be a loyal servant to the crown. And you, too. You could have had whatever you wanted if you’d stayed.”

  When I’d worried about trouble catching up with us in Corovja, I hadn’t imagined anything as complicated as this. From the expression on Hal’s face, I guessed he hadn’t either. He’d clearly never known what Nismae had sacrificed to protect him from being experimented upon.

  “Nismae didn’t offer me that choice,” Hal said.

  “No, she didn’t. She should have told you the truth and let you make your own decision,” Eywin said. “Maybe you could even have talked some sense into her. But she’ll never be pardoned now—not after killing the other members of the group who sent her on that mission.”

  Hal paced back and forth, struggling to absorb everything Eywin had said. “But why did she lie to me? Why did she try to turn me against the king, too? Why did she tell me you owed her a debt for letting you live?”

  “I’m sure she believes a debt is owed, just as she believed she was doing the right thing by hiding things from you,” Eywin said. “As for the debt, I got Nismae the job here because she’s smart and she’s family. It was the least I could do for my sister’s children, and I know she would have done the same for mine if I’d ever fathered any. I wouldn’t trade the years I spent with you, or even Nismae, for anything. There is no debt to collect. If you want my help, all you have to do is ask.”

  “I want to believe you,” Hal said, his voice wavering.

  “Then do. You’re still family. You’re the closest thing to a son I’ll ever have.” Eywin opened his arms.

  I stood frozen. Somehow I’d ended up in the middle of a moment that should have just been between them.

  Hal stepped forward and hugged Eywin.

  I sighed with relief, ignoring the familiar prickle of envy that always came from seeing the closeness of other families. Not having my own never ceased to sting.

  Eywin looked at me over Hal’s shoulder, favoring me with a gentle smile. “Now, please let me properly speak to this lovely person you’ve brought with you,” he said.

  Hal stepped back and swiped at his eyes, pulling himself back together.

  “Asra’s an herbalist, like you, and a demigod, like me,” Hal said.

  Eywin broke into a grin. “It’s always a pleasure to meet someone interested in the herbal arts.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, grateful that he seemed less interested in my parentage than my skills.

  “We came because we urgently need an audience with the king. Nismae is planning to come for him,” Hal said.

  “We’re here to warn him what he’s up against,” I added.

  Eywin sighed heavily. “I trained Nismae myself, at least in the preparation of herbs and enchantments. There’s nothing she can pull that I won’t expect.”

  I decided to cut to the chase. “Have you ever seen a dragon?”

  Ewin looked at me more intently. “Not since I was a little boy.”

  “That’s what’s coming for you. A dragon with no allegiance to the gods—a dragon who wants to take the throne,” I said. “Ina destroyed an entire bandit caravan in the space of fifteen minutes. It was as easy for her as breathing.” My stomach heaved as the memories came roaring back. We weren’t safe yet. We might never be—not until I found the Fatestone and made things right.

  A flicker of uncertainty passed over Eywin’s face. “I heard about that.”

  “I saw it happen,” I said, swallowing bile as the memories came back.

  Trees sending tongues of flame into the sky.

  Ina’s wings, shimmering silver in the flickering light.

  Snow, red with blood.

  “There were no survivors,” I said. “But we know what Nismae and Ina are planning. We can help the king prepare.”

  “Then you certainly do need to speak to him,” Eywin said. “I’ll see that it is arranged.”

  Eywin scheduled a meeting with the king for the following day and saw that accommodations would be prepared for us in the castle for the night. He and Hal made plans to catch up over supper, which I declined, and then a page arrived to escort us to our rooms.

  Hal and I followed the page in silence, as my worries ate one another, each larger than the last. Hal had been reunited with his uncle, we had obtained an audience with the king, but so many unknowns still hung over us. We didn’t know exactly when Ina and Nismae would arrive in Corovja. I didn’t know if the king would heed my warnings about them. And I still didn’t know how to find Atheon. Worst of all, I had begun to worry that the Fatestone might not be able to solve the ever-deepening web of problems I felt trapped in the center of.

  “Your room, my lady.” The page stopped in front of a door.

  I paused at the door, casting a glance at Hal.

  “I will escort you to your room at the far end of the hall, sir,” the page said, turning to continue down the corridor.

  “I’m sure I can find it myself,” Hal said. “Thank you for your help.”

  The page bowed and hurried off to his next errand.

  “Asra, can we talk for a minute?” Hal asked.

  I nodded and pushed the door open.

  Hal followed me into my small room, which was simply but thoroughly furnished. I collapsed into a chair, no longer sure how I was going to make it through the rest of the day.

  “Do you think we can trust my uncle?” Hal asked.

  I looked up, startled. “You’d know better than I.”

  “Apparently not,” he said, frowning. “I wish I understood why Nismae lied to me. It’s so unlike her. She keeps secrets, yes, but she doesn’t usually lie.”

  “She thought she was protecting you,” I said. But I knew how he felt, what it was like to find out someone close to you had withheld the truth, only for it to end up shaping your life forever. If not for Nismae, he might have stayed in Corovja, his life entirely different, and in the end, she too had asked for his blood. “It would
be nice if people were always honest.”

  “That’s the gods-damned truth,” Hal agreed.

  “If the gods had told me where I came from, I would have known how dangerous my gift could be. I might have known how to protect myself and my people. I could have stopped the bandits from killing everyone.” The gods still could have dumped me on the mountain and left me in Miriel’s care, but they could have also told me the truth. My hands trembled as guilt for all the destruction I’d caused rose up to drown me again. I could still smell the burned flesh of the people I’d meant to care for. I could still see the smoldering embers of Amalska when I closed my eyes.

  “Asra,” Hal said. “Stop. I wish you knew more about your history, too. But you can’t change the past.”

  My heart froze. The look in his eyes was so open and earnest. He believed in my goodness. And while he seemed to be more the sort to offer a helping hand when it was convenient and then be on his way, I knew it wasn’t like that with us. For some time now, he’d been offering me somewhere to fall. Somewhere to be safe. But I couldn’t be. Not with the fate-twisting blood that ran in my veins.

  “But that’s the thing,” I whispered. “I can.”

  “What?” He looked at me in confusion.

  “That amulet your sister and the king have been seeking—the Fatestone—gives a bloodscribe the ability to use their gifts without cost, by preserving life instead of draining it away.” I took a deep breath. “Because the Fatestone offsets the cost of my power, it will also give me the ability to rewrite the past. I can undo the mess I’ve created from the very beginning.”

  Hal stared at me in shock. “That’s why you want the Fatestone . . . not to be able to safely shape the future, but so you can rewrite the past.”

  I nodded. “I have to. I could stop all of this before it starts. I can save the king without a battle ever having to take place. Nothing else will stop Ina now. With Nismae behind her, what other choice do I have?” I begged him to understand.