by Sam Farren
But her leg, her leg. She’d overexerted herself, springing the trap over and over again.
She grabbed one of the crutches, gripped the arm of the sofa, and got to her feet with a huff.
Blue light engulfed the darkness.
Once, twice.
“Very well,” Castelle said, sitting back down.
Brackish returned to a soft glow, illuminating Castelle’s fingertips.
“There was a time, and I remember this as clearly as anything, that my mother made a public appearance with Brackish. Or the sword she claimed was Brackish, I should say. It was a beautiful thing. Only my mother could wield it, so it was kept in her chambers, by her side. I used to beg to see it as a child,” Castelle said, certain there’d be no harm in opening the bag, in letting the spirit-sword breathe a little. She didn’t move. “I was ten when she took Brackish into the heart of Torshval, when she addressed the people about—oh, I cannot remember. What was wrong and what was right for Fenroe, I expect.
“She wore Brackish at her hip, touching the hilt whenever she made a point. Suddenly, a man rushed from the crowd, screaming nonsense, reaching for my mother’s throat. Not a terribly uncommon occurrence, but he got further than most. He snatched Brackish from my mother’s side, and all our guards fell back. My mother smiled. A strange thing to do, when faced with a man declaring his intent to gut you.
“I struggled forward, but my sister Marigold clutched my shoulders. She understood what was going to happen. Besides, what good was a child against an armed dissident? The man raised the sword, but it was too much for him. His motions became jagged. He began to struggle, to scream, voice bellowing as though the sword was hot to the touch and his fingers had welded to it.
“One moment he stood, sword pointed at Queen Marcella’s throat. The next he was dead on the floor, to my ten-year-old eyes. My mother knelt at his side, pried Brackish from his lifeless hands, and continued her speech, sword in hand.
“The whole city was stunned into silence. When they found their tongues, they couldn’t stop talking about it for months. Someone not of Greyser blood had attempted to wield Brackish, and—well. Just goes to show, doesn’t it? Recounting it all seems so theatrical, but I suppose that’s what it was.
“An act. All staged, for how else would anyone break through my family’s security, the guards, the knights? There was no—no magic, no birthright in it, was there? You certainly weren’t involved. It was all a lie, wasn’t it?”
Two flashes, close together. Brackish wanted Castelle to know who it – she – was, and it wasn’t that. It wasn’t delicate filigree and precious stones pressed into a hilt.
“Did my mother ever wield you?”
One flash.
“Did anyone in my family ever wield you?”
Another flash, long and sustained, burning the backs of Castelle’s eyelids.
“I see,” she said as the light returned to darkness. “Then you were kept prisoner, without any purpose.”
Another flash. Another no.
“There was some purpose in it?”
Two flashes.
“That makes sense,” Castelle murmured. “Why else keep such a dangerous relic in the castle, why else risk taking it across the archipelago, to Laister? My mother always used to say something about there being a purpose in keeping prisoners. That they were not merely rotting in a cell, whittling away the days, the years. Everyone behind bars was there for a reason, everyone who had been kept alive had some use yet. Gods. I used to think that sounded so clever, though I suppose there’s no accounting for being thirteen.”
The sword hummed softly. Castelle rolled onto her back, jostling her leg for the effort, and stared at the ceiling.
“You could’ve haunted that metal forever. How were you supposed to find peace, hidden away in that box?” Castelle asked. Frowning, she said, “How do I know you were in a box? Were you in a box? Did you put that thought in my head?”
No answer.
“That means yes, doesn’t it? Well, what should we do with you now, Brackish? I have had my share of epiphanies, lately, and I am sick of daily revelations, but I can make an exception for you. I owe you something, don’t I? My family kept you locked in the dark for decades, then gave a mere decoration your name. What do you think of leaving the archipelago? Of putting the Greyser legacy to rest?”
Brackish glowed three times. Castelle laughed at the ceiling, not knowing what she thought of it, either.
“We’ll think of something. We’ll return you to the gods, or—”
Light filled the room, bright as day, loud as a song. Castelle clamped her arms over her eyes.
“Or not, or not! Gods. There is something strange in you, Brackish. When Eos took me through the hills, the spirits had congregated, creating this—this structure, this pillar of light, rising and falling. It sunk in and out of the land, bound to it, bound to the sky, unaware of its surroundings, almost. Well. That’s easy to say, when Eos created an apparent blind spot in their vision. I expect if I’d gone alone, I’d have a very different impression of them.
“But they’d joined together. I expect they’d all been through something similar, if not the same thing, and had become of one mind. But you know who you are, don’t you, Brackish? You haven’t forgotten what happened to you, have you?”
The spirit did not glow, but metal sang. It’d never been the sword that mattered, that entitled the Greysers to the archipelago, in this form or a false one. It was the spirit inside that they’d claimed possession of, that they lauded over the people of Fenroe.
Castelle sat up, elbows on her knees. It would be easy to make amends. Easy to set this right. If she took Brackish into her arms, metal wrapped in cloth, she could take her not to Nor or Amaros, but to where Brackish needed to be. The spirits of Laister Forest and the hills of Llyne had been severed from the gods centuries ago, and while they didn’t know rest, they were where they were supposed to be.
“Careful,” came Eos’ voice, making Castelle bolt upright. “Do not spend too much time speaking with her. You will start to think her thoughts are yours, start to give her a voice.”
“I—I understand that she’s dangerous. That she’s still a spirit,” Castelle said, glad of the darkness as embarrassment crept up her neck. She curled her fingers towards her palm and said, “Where have you been? Is it safe out there?”
Eos pulled down her hood but didn’t remove her cloak.
“There are no stars out, tonight. It is dark, and there are only sheep to see me,” Eos said. “It is raining. I missed the feel of it on my skin.”
The spirit’s hold loosened. Castelle found her way to her feet, knowing the break wasn’t to blame for her last struggle.
“I miss all of it. I miss breathing fresh air, more now than ever,” Castelle said. “I am endlessly grateful to Reed, but this cottage grows smaller every day.”
“More so now than when you were in the temple?” Eos asked, stepping around Castelle.
“I didn’t realise there was fresh air to be found, then. Now that I know it’s beyond these walls, my lungs ache,” Castelle said.
“Do not worry. We cannot stay here for much longer. I will find us another horse, if I have to.”
“Having found a horse when we first got to Llyne would’ve solved a lot of problems,” Castelle muttered, shuffling back as Eos sat on the sofa.
“I was not certain who I would leave any potential horse with. I would not take one unless I could account for its safety.”
Head tilted to the side, Castelle said, “We were going to walk across Llyne because you were worried your non-existent horse might not be taken care of?”
“Yes.”
There was as much in it as Brackish’s blinking.
Castelle stood for a moment longer, resting on her crutches, watching Eos shrug off her cloak and fold it in her lap. Brackish resumed her faint glow, casting an eerie dawn across Eos’ face. When Eos looked up at her, Castelle shook her head.
&nbs
p; “Goodnight, Eos,” she said. “I hope you enjoyed the rain.”
Chapter Fourteen
On the way back to her room, something other than the rain struck the front door.
Castelle froze. There were no quick escapes with a leg like hers, and her crutches and the bare floor weren’t a combination that promised silence. Eos shot out of the living room, took Castelle’s arm, and shuffled her out of the hallway.
Reed passed them, not bothering with eye contact. Late night emergencies were part of her job, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t be wary of potential patients. Anyone could take harmless gossip back to the tavern at the end of the lane.
“Doctor Fisher,” a woman said. “Sorry to trouble you at such a late hour. I was wondering if you’d heard the news.”
“Unless the news is that someone’s gone sceptic, it can probably wait till morning,” Reed replied evenly.
“Oh, that’s no way to greet an old friend, is it? How many years has it been?”
“Not enough,” Reed sighed. “Why are you back on Llyne? Finally run out of errands to run in Torshval?”
The woman laughed and said, “You really haven’t heard, have you? It’s the Greyser girl. The last of them. Word is she’s been kidnapped – or escaped, depending who tells the tale – from Laister Temple.”
One of the crutches slipped from Castelle’s grasp. Eos grabbed it before it hit the ground. Castelle pressed her back to the kitchen wall, taking deep breaths. It was okay. It was okay. This was bound to happen. Word was always going to spread. A disgruntled guard or maid would let something slip to the local villages, and from there it would be a wildfire, held back for fourteen years.
“That? I heard as much, weeks ago. I didn’t think you were one to be taken in by such rumours,” Reed said. “I was there, Svir. We both were. You saw the state of the place. Nobody escaped the inner castle. No one.”
Crutch lowered to the floor, Eos gripped Castelle’s shoulder, making her meet her gaze. She brought a finger to her lips, pleading with Castelle not yelp, not to cry or gasp.
Reed knew the woman, but Eos did, too. Eos knew silence was the safest option, even with three against one.
“Gods. Live a little, Doctor. There was no end to the bodies! Who’s to say which was which? Like the Greysers weren’t smart enough to use decoys,” Svir said. “And even if it isn’t the Greyser girl, there’s a big enough prize on her head to treat her like royalty.”
“Your questionable work ethics aside, what do you want, Svir? I was sleeping, for once.”
“Yes, yes. I know how busy you are. I hate to intrude, but I was wondering whether you’ve seen our dearest Eos, of late.”
Eos’ hand moved from Castelle’s shoulder, and she slumped against the wall, eyes screwed shut with the start of a headache.
“Someone came around weeks ago, asking about a scarred Yrician. Is this what that was all about?” Reed asked, clicking her tongue. “And it’s been years, Svir. You’ve likely seen her more recently than I have. Isn’t she ever checking in on your houseguest?”
Ignoring Reed, Svir said, “If she was with the Princess, she would’ve passed through Llyne. Laister is a wasteland with a single exit. Are you sure she didn’t stop by here, for old time’s sake?”
“Yes, Svir. Eos kidnapped the woman who may or may not be the last living Greyser, got her to Llyne, and decided to stop in a village where all my neighbours know her by name. Very logical. That really sounds like Eos.”
Svir grunted.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in? Speaking of old times.”
“No, honey. You know you’re not welcome here, not anymore,” Reed said. “And I know you have no intention of stopping. Not when there’s a bounty at stake.”
“Indeed,” Svir agreed. “Well. If you do hear anything…”
“I won’t tell her you stopped by.”
Laughing, Svir paused, then yelled something in Yrician into the house.
Eos folded her arms over her chest, doing her utmost not to respond.
“Tell Eos to stop meddling in my business,” Svir said, farewells terse.
She muttered something else in Yrician and made her exit. Reed stared into the black of night, making sure she was gone before closing the door, latches pulled across.
No one in the house breathed. From the other room, Brackish began to glow.
“Did you know about this?” Reed asked, not daring to raise her voice above a whisper in her own house. “Did you know Svir was involved?”
Eos raised her hands. Reed jabbed her fingers against Eos’ chest.
“She is an irritation, at most. She will not cause problems,” Eos said.
“That’s what you always say!”
“It is fine,” Eos muttered. “Svir is… Svir is my friend. You know this. It is fine.”
“How many times has she got you into trouble?”
“I have always lived.”
Reed’s hands twisted in the collar of Eos’ shirt. What did it matter who Svir was? It was inevitable word would spread about the Greyser heir, and there were likely dozens, if not hundreds, idly and not so idly determined to make themselves a small fortune.
It wouldn’t only be Castelle’s fathers offering a reward for her safe return. Plenty of those eager to see the job finished would offer a generous bounty for Castelle’s capture, safe or otherwise.
None of that mattered. It was a given. It was nothing but reality that’d come knocking on the door.
But Reed, Reed with her eyes fixed fast on Eos’, had changed in the span of a single conversation.
Castelle wrapped her fingers around Reed’s wrist.
“You were there?” Castelle asked.
Reed dropped her gaze from Eos and loosened her grasp. Castelle didn’t.
“I was there?”
“You told that woman that you’d been there, in the castle. After the massacre. That you’d both been there,” Castelle said softly.
“Oh.”
Reed let go of Eos’ collar and took a step back, pulling her robe tighter around herself.
“You were there, when my family were…” Castelle said, uncertain how her broken leg was supporting her when the whole world wanted her to topple. “You were there. You saw the—before they took their… You were there?”
“Ah,” Reed said. “That was a long time ago, Castelle. The resistance needed doctors. Did you know there were no sheep on this island, two decades ago? Llyne has a long history of shepherding families, but sure enough, the capital needed more mutton, more wool. More and more resources, taken by the Queen’s orders, nothing given in return. Nothing left to trade, to export. It was a sorry sight, Castelle.”
“Sheep,” Castelle repeated. “There were no sheep, so you—you were one of them. One of the rebels.”
“Not one of note. Didn’t come across my name in any of those books, did you? And it wasn’t about the sheep, honey. It was about not having enough food. It was about seeing malnourished kids and parents coming into my mother’s practice and not remembering when it started being a problem. It was about telling them, well, waste not, want not. You can boil down bones for a few extra calories, and people’s animal companions starved long before they did.
“I was there, honey. You weren’t.”
“I wasn’t there?” Castelle asked, voice rising. “I wasn’t there? I saw it all, and—”
“And before that night, you were feasting on the rest of the archipelago’s livelihood, wasting whole platters, spiting those who’d beg for scraps. You were there for minutes, hours. The rest of us were there for our entire lives,” Reed said. “I know you were a child, Castelle. I know you saw things that no person deserved to see, and I know what that does to a person. But I won’t apologise for what I did. For the side I took. It was the right side. The only one worth taking. You’re starting to see that, aren’t you? You’re upset, honey. That’s understandable. But you’re far from the only victim in this.”
Tears
streaked Castelle’s face. It was absurd. Reed could keep herself together, could speak without her voice wavering or emotions rising, yet Castelle let the heat in the pit of her stomach get the better of her.
Castelle had been there. She’d been there.
She’d been right in the heart of it, benefiting from everything that’d been stolen from others.
Gods.
“Did you—” Castelle began, trembling. “In the dining room, did you—the bodies, were they…”
Reed wrapped her arms tightly around Castelle.
“No, honey. Don’t think of that. Never think of that,” Reed said, mouth pressed to her ear. “They were already gone. None of them were suffering, honey. None of them.”
Castelle clung to the back of Reed’s shirt.
Thank the gods Reed hadn’t said anything.
Castelle didn’t want to know, didn’t want to know, didn’t want to know.
“It may be wise for us to leave,” Eos said, interrupting the embrace.
Reed stepped back, brushing Castelle’s hair out of her face.
“Svir headed downhill, towards the inn, but I doubt she’ll go far. She’ll be watching the cottage, so if you want to leave, you’d better do it before first light,” she said.
Eos and Reed stiffened, emotions pushed down for the sake of expediency. They headed off to make preparations, leaving Castelle alone in the dark kitchen, blue light lapping at the doorway. Drawers rattled. Doors slammed. Eos and Reed called across the house to each other, but may as well have been speaking Yrician, for all Castelle picked out of it.
She stared at the crutch Eos had laid across the floor. She willed herself to remember what Reed kept reminding her: the gashes left behind by the bear trap were worse than the break. Once she got out of the house, when there was something other than boredom driving her to walk, it would come back to her.
It had to.
She didn’t have a choice, anymore.
Brackish burnt bright within the bag on Eos’ back, pressed against two others. This was it. Leaving was no longer a distant concept, something for a future, wiser version of herself to deal with. All the books she’d read fell apart, pages scattering and mixing with one another, history once again askew inside her head.