by James Stone
Deih shrugged. ‘Be it a minute or a year, the poison will take you all in the end.’
The words slid off her tongue like quicksilver, but to Magmaya they were the grinding of salt. And yet still, her name couldn’t escape her mouth, even as she opened it to curse. ‘Deih!’ she screamed and writhed about in the shards of glass, the wine dying her robes a sickly crimson.
The High Priestess watched for a few seconds more and appeared to grow bored, ambling around in disgust. She made her way back to the window, a kaleidoscope of colours washing over her eyes, and with a gentle hush, blew the candles out.
Deih looked back and sighed until finally, the incessant screaming grew hoarse, and the will of the First seemed to smile upon her, drowning the girl’s dying sentence out.
The prayers of the Belliousans below echoed through the room and eclipsed the rising crescendo of their heartbeats, all while the wine on her lips began to taste sour again, like the sickness of sound in the chiming of silverwater.
Twenty-Four
She’d called out seven times in the last hour, and each scream was more fearful than the last. And each time, she’d stare Anclyn down with crystal eyes, alive and burning, and slump back down into the white of the bedsheets.
Magmaya found her robes bundled beneath a brazier (in a vain attempt to burn out the wine stains); her plate had been impervious to the alcohol, but it had cut into her skin—thin, red incisions ran across her neckline and circled her hips, cool in the light of the window.
‘Anclyn!’ she said, and her voice brought the handmaiden back to life. At once, Magmaya was awake, and the world had descended into chaos. Her eyes were burning, and her greasepaint had worn away as she stretched out stiff fingers, groping for Anclyn’s neck.
It hurts! She wished she could’ve screamed. Everything hurts!
‘My lady…’ Anclyn pulled herself away, gasping. Realisation was flooding through her.
‘Deih!’ Magmaya spat, but her retching had turned to a whisper. ‘Deih…’
Anclyn scurried to tend to her, pulling apart the bedsheets and combing through her hair, but with every movement, Magmaya undid it. After what seemed an endless game of back and forth, she sat back, defeated.
‘One of Deih’s Temple Guard’s brought you here.’ Anclyn began bundling her clothes up in her arms. ‘They told us you had been drunken! That you’d threatened the High Priestess, my lady. I didn’t believe them, but the angels, they’re—is it true?’
Magmaya’s eyes widened. She could still taste the Dew of the Honey on her lips and feel the smashed glass beneath her fingertips. She had threatened Deih; that much was true—but she was her enemy!
‘She poisoned me,’ Magmaya said. ‘I need help, I need—’ She stopped. ‘Anclyn, we have to kill her; we have to kill that whore! We have to kill her before—’
A voice speared the air, and a cold breeze took the room, cutting Magmaya off. She felt helpless again, ensnared by the words she spoke.
Deih was standing in the doorframe, alone. The dull rain illuminated her body as she stood tall like a beautiful caricature of stonework, and as Magmaya fell back to her bedding, even Anclyn looked as if she was bowing down to her in rapture. With one breath, she owned the room—perhaps her vanity was understated.
‘Handmaiden,’ she spoke softly. ‘May I have a moment alone with your mistress?’
Magmaya looked to the handmaiden with wide eyes, but whether through the poison or a misunderstanding, Anclyn nodded and left the room without so much as another word. The door was closed behind her, and at last, Deih and her were alone again.
The High Priestess ambled forward, admiring the braziers as she did. Each step she took seemed to cool them until the fires grew weak and the room was plastered with smoke.
After what felt like an eternity, Deih made room for herself and perched on the corner of Magmaya’s bed, as a mother did to comfort a child, and said, ‘You were very foolish yesterday.’ The High Priestess tutted through bared teeth. ‘This has become far more complicated than it needed to be.’
‘Please.’ Magmaya tasted the poison like bile in her throat. ‘You need to help me.’
‘I will help you with nothing,’ Deih scorned. ‘You have rebelled against the First, and they have judged you and found you a heretic. They will strike you down.’ She nodded to herself. ‘And as for your handmaiden? Do you care for her? Perhaps the First should judge her too, my love.’
Magmaya felt her cheeks glow red. That pleased Deih.
‘You didn’t kill me, though,’ she spat. ‘Perhaps the First abandoned you.’
‘Are you so simple to have thought I would have killed you?’ the High Priestess asked. ‘If I were to have done that, then the Divinicus would’ve had ample reason to burn my island.’
Magmaya grunted and shook her head. ‘You’ve still time to let me go then, Deih,’ she said. ‘Lay one finger on Anclyn or me, and I’ll tell them all what you planned for Fabius.’
‘Tell them what you want,’ the High Priestess said. ‘Do you think they’ll believe the words of some drunk slut?’ She shook her head, and all of a sudden, Magmaya found it terribly hard to breathe. ‘The only question now is—where do we go from here, dear girl?’
‘You let me go,’ Magmaya said. ‘The angels and I take off, and we never see or speak of one another again.’
‘You know things aren’t quite as simple as that,’ Deih said, sighing. ‘The Divinicus won’t leave without Belliousa under their thumb.’
‘Kurulian left.’
‘Kurulian had other allegiances to keep him at bay,’ she explained. ‘Besides, the First made us girls all the same, and I know how our clockwork hearts tick. I fear even if no one believes your story now, you’ll find a way to convince someone in time. If I’ve learnt one thing, girl, it is that us women have the most convincing weapon of all, and it lies between our legs.’
‘It doesn’t matter what’s beneath my belly,’ she spat. I don’t want to relive last night again, she decided, cock or not.
‘Well,’ the High Priestess remarked, ‘if a girl says she knows, then certainly she must. Though I am tempted to believe otherwise.’
Without warning, she raised her dead, black finger into the light. And before Magmaya could react, Deih drew it down her chin.
‘You will tell your angels you’re a foul heathen, will you not?’ She frowned. ‘Provided you make this easy for us, it will not be any harder for you. The First shall decide your fate.’
‘Fuck the First,’ Magmaya said and collapsed back down into the bed; a sickly warmth began coursing through her that she knew all too well.
Much to her surprise, there was no retaliation. Instead, Deih nodded.
And then, she could only watch as the High Priestess leaned forward until her face was but inches from her own, that dead smile ensnaring her. And with those spindly hands of coal, she peeled back the bedsheets, revealing Magmaya’s breasts to the frigid air.
She felt the urge to scream rise within her, but only foam brewed at her lips. Deih shrugged in an indecisive manner and went back to jerking at her sheets. She stopped at the scar on her belly where that bloody deer had kicked her into the snow, and a smile formed on the High Priestess’ lips. She studied it for a short number of seconds before pressing her stony fingertips into the ruptured flesh.
There was a moment of blinding pain before a dull ache rose inside of her. But when she didn’t scream, Deih looked disappointed.
So as if to compensate, High Priestess tore the bedsheet from her legs, and Magmaya’s body stiffened. The witch’s eyes settled below her navel with a prickly grin. They stayed there for a little while until Deih decided she was done staring and began tidying the bed, deciding she was content.
She leaned in close, and for a moment, Magmaya thought she was going to kiss her. But instead, she sighed and said, ‘I think I’ll allow you to explain to the Divinicus what happened yesterday.’ Deih tuck
ed a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Be sure to tell them your weapon is broken.’
Magmaya watched on in agony as the High Priestess made her way over to the door, tugged it open, and watched the Divinicus flood in. Akanah and his war-band came pouring over her, carrying an endless supply of empty questions.
But from across the room, through the small, pearly crowd, Magmaya found the High Priestess, standing and smiling with a grin as cold as brass.
‘What did you say to her?’ Akanah’s voice was fiercer than she remembered.
The others had left the room, though it had felt like mere seconds since they’d stormed in. But then, she noticed that the rain had stopped and that the fires had been extinguished—hours had passed. That’s the influence of the Dew of the Honey, Magmaya reminded herself, its subtle warmth will betray you—that’s how the poison eats away. It had dragged her unconscious back to Orianne, and heaven knew what it would do to her now.
Magmaya covered herself and looked up to the Legatus, chasing the lines across his brow until they disappeared behind his ears. If she had ever thought him or any of the angels to be gods, then she had been gravely mistaken. What the First had shown her was no one in pearly white armour would sit above her and dictate the laws of angels and men.
‘I did what I had to,’ she said, her voice brittle, ‘for you, for the Divinicus…’ she caught herself trailing off.
She could never tell him about Deih’s proposition, of course; no matter how much she would’ve loved to flaunt her loyalty, she could almost feel her prying eyes still watching her. Each step she took was balanced on hot coal, and one misstep would burn her alive.
‘Was drinking in the best interest of the Divinicus?’ His eyebrows had contorted into something sinister, but Magmaya didn’t care. Even as the back of his knuckle forced its way across her cheekbone, it was of little consequence. Even as a terrible heat rose inside of her chest and coursed through her neck like a thousand tiny kisses, it was all lost amid her fear.
‘Have you forgotten Highport already?’ the Legatus continued on. ‘You made a grave mistake by pissing off the gangers there, because when you return, there will be no Spider, nor me to protect you. If your intent was to prove something to that witch with a drunken display, then perhaps Fabius should’ve kept you as chancellor in the north or wherever they breed you whores.’
‘Akanah, please—!’
‘Your actions are a disgrace to our kindness.’ He ignored her. ‘I just hope you know that none of your damn interfering matters; none of your plotting or anything of the sort.’
‘I never—’
He hushed her. ‘None of us will forget you betrayed our trust, but chiefly neither will you. Let it be known that even the humblest of Divinicus could have killed the Golden Woman, so a meek girl such as yourself is of little issue to us. Whatever fate Fabius decides for you, be it exile to Highport or an ashen waste, I will make sure to defame you in a way that spells traitor to the whole of Inamorata.’ He took a breath, and she watched the tension roll off his shoulders as if the world was being moved like a weight.
‘There’s nothing more your people like than a good traitor, is there?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Makes you look better in the mirror.’
‘Perhaps you should glance in yours more often, Magmaya. You won’t have those doe eyes forever. Not after all of this is done.’
As he brushed back his hair and began to fasten his helm, she decided he could threaten her as much as he pleased; Deih and Akanah’s curses were all the same; it felt as if nothing she did would change her fate. All she had left to do was die.
The second he left, Magmaya breathed a sigh of relief and raised her palm to her cheek, feeling a wetness. She wiped the blood into the bedsheets and stood, throwing a towel over her shoulders before making her way to the window.
All she could make out was a barrage of creeping mist along the mountainside; it was steep and merciless, and it ran down farther than she thought possible. If she found a way out, then perhaps, at last, she could rest.
Magmaya pushed the thought to the back of her mind and turned to the door, finding it locked. She could just about make out a whisper from whoever lay beyond, but it certainly wasn’t in the common tongue. She sighed and turned away.
She stirred to the drumming of wind against the window and then to the night crawling in from beyond. Perhaps the passing of time did indeed elude the First Temple—surely it couldn’t have been an entire day since Deih had poisoned her? Magmaya was half tempted to wave it away as the kiss of the Dew; it was easier if she did.
But it didn’t matter either way; she only had one ally left in the Temple, and soon enough, she would be gone.
Magmaya had been the one to request that Anclyn came to Belliousa, and it wasn’t hard to imagine that she too would be punished because of what happened with Deih. The thoughts weaved themselves through her head, and she grit her teeth in frustration—how had she been so foolish as to have found herself ensnared this way? Even now, she wouldn’t have made a cunning chancellor, that much was for sure.
As the seconds passed, she paced about the room; the rumbling of her stomach was killing her, though it was becoming increasingly likely she wouldn’t taste food ever again. What was the last thing I ate? She couldn’t even remember now. How quaint the notion of food had been before she’d been without it.
She traced the stone floor and marble walls, searching for anything she could use to turn the tide in her favour. But apart from the braziers which were far too heavy to lift, there was nothing—they weren’t even lit. Them, and the remains of Kurulian’s vial which Deih had surely left to goad her. It would do her no good to escape, but she fastened what was left to her wrist all the same. After all, it was the only reminder of that northern girl she’d once been.
Occasionally, she’d find herself wiping the windows clean of condensation, only to see herself staring back in the fog beyond. The frame was far too small to escape through and even then, where would she go? It seemed the farther the sun dropped beyond the horizon, the slimmer her options grew.
Magmaya found herself thinking to Siedous and Rache and all the people she had left behind. And then to Kurulian. It was a cruel jest in hindsight; he had taken her south, told of her of Belliousa, and prompted her coming here. Perhaps if they had been together, they could’ve found a way out, be it by arranging whispers among the handmaidens or forcing the door down. Or maybe he would’ve just pretended not to know her.
As the dark of the moon rose into fruition, Magmaya grew aware of her restlessness. Amidst the silence, the sinister acoustic of prayer rose up from someplace below, and Magmaya decided she must’ve been placed in a kind of tower. She began wondering what the Divinicus were even doing—perchance they hadn’t left already. The thought shook her core; the mere suggestion of being secluded with the disciples of the First made her deathly afraid. The angels may have been cruel and arrogant, but they were predictable at least. Blind faith always found a way to surprise her.
Were the Kytherans cruel too? She had read in the Divinicus’ doctrines of their Empress, the Bastard Mother, and how their general, Sir Atthes Garcel, had deserted them for a witch from Vavaria. It was told no one knew the true heart of the Mother and her armies, but to meet them in the open field was to meet hatred incarnate. Though it appeared whatever faced her now would give her no respite either.
About an hour later (halfway through a doze), Magmaya leapt up, startled. There were scratches at the door, and then a jingling of metals and brass. It was opened a foot or so, and a robed claw pushed a wooden tray through. A moment later, the door was snapped shut again, metal was rustled, and there was silence.
Magmaya waited for the servant to disappear and made her approach, her heart rising in her chest. It had been what she had hoped for, but never in a thousand years had expected; while there was nothing on the tray save for a bowl of sickly, green broth, it wasn’t the food she cared for. T
he fact that they had bothered to feed her at all gave her relief—they wanted her alive. Not only that, but they had given her a weapon. Neither the tray nor bowl were metal, but the wood would suffice—it would have to.
Despite her best intentions, she felt a bestial hunger rise within her and pressed the broth to her lips. It turned to a stream of thick salt and milky oil as it rolled down her lips, raw meat bubbling to the surface. Even though her stomach was as empty as it was, she couldn’t bring herself to eat, and so, she tossed the contents into the corner of the room—they reeked of vomit.
Magmaya sat down, stole a breath, and felt the world rush over her. She looked to the discarded broth and watched as a rat (as large as a hare) scampered out of nowhere and began to feast on the uncooked meat. As its tiny razor teeth tore each scrap apart, she began to wonder if she might be next. Perhaps even the merciless Mother would’ve shown her more mercy than hunger would.
A chill took the room, and Magmaya glanced back to the window, peering into the blackness of the fog and eyeing a pair of stars above. She had dreamt of one day standing in the Silver City, hand in hand with Rache, and pointing up to the white north on a silvery globe. ‘There’s home’, she wished she could’ve said, but they wouldn’t have needed it anymore. Now all she could do was stare into the emptiness between the stars and wonder if any of them hurt the same as she did. And as always, there was no reply.
And as always, she went back to being a puddle caught amid a rainstorm.
After a short while, she crossed the room again and pressed her ear to the door. It was time, she had decided. If I don’t move now, each moment will slip into the next, and I will lose my chance.
Magmaya worked quickly, driving the rim of the bowl into the brittle edges of the window sill. It was made of hard stone, but the fog had turned it damp, and so after a few swift strikes, a small black crevice opened in the rock. The rim of the bowl had found a way to splinter too, but Magmaya just found cause to ram it harder into the stonework.