by Kerstin Hall
Wrong, this had to be wrong.
“You didn’t decide to break the Moon Pillar on your own. You were compelled to follow the Star’s wishes, you were pushed or guided—”
“Stop!” I shouted.
Cyde fell silent, but it was too late, I could not help but recognise the truth. That alien instinct that had possessed me the night we escaped Ceyrun, the voice in my dreams, the pulling sensation that I felt even now, as if I were a magnet dragged toward the Edge and down to the darkness beyond.
“I wanted to break the Pillar,” I said forcefully. “For better or worse, the choice was mine.”
Cyde’s mask of studied calm slipped; beneath, I could finally see her guilt, the sadness that she had tried to conceal from me. Her pity.
“I know,” she said. “But perhaps you needed a final push to follow your convictions.”
I wanted to dismiss her words, but couldn’t. Because of course, I had experienced that sense of compulsion, that crushing need to tear down the Pillar, even though a part of me had wondered, why not wait? Why not let Asan or Rhyanon help me to leave the city? And the simple reason was that I had felt it would take too long. If I delayed, someone would stop me.
A dark chasm yawned inside me. How much of myself belonged to me alone?
“What does she want?” I asked, throat tight. “Vengeance?”
Cyde gestured uncertainty. “Maybe.”
“Then shouldn’t you be trying to stop me?”
She was quiet for a moment, and again, she was no longer meeting my eyes.
“The fifth Renewer. Galain Myde,” she said at last. “Before her martyrdom, she reported hearing the Eater’s voice on the wind. That experience disturbed her more than any other hallucination she had suffered; in her final days, she grew so erratic that her friends feared she would walk right off the Edge. Or kill them in their sleep.”
Was that going to be me? I gripped the edge of the bench. Driven insane, swallowed up by visions. Was that my future?
“A friend turned her over to the traditionalists in the Order,” said Cyde. “But before she was martyred, Myde insisted that there was ‘a debt of blood’ that only she could pay, and that doing so would put everything to rights. She spoke of a cleansing, a sacrifice. A ‘sundering.’ She said that, in fulfilling her duty, she would rid our people of Haunts.”
My dream lingered in my mind; the temple and the tide of blood washing over my legs.
“So that’s why none of you will martyr me,” I said with dull certainty. “Because you’re hoping I’ll sacrifice myself instead.”
Cyde started to gesture apology, and then lowered her hands.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “When I think of Kirane, I … But this isn’t my decision. All I can do is protect you, help you, and allow you to make your own choices. Informed choices. If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine.”
“We’d just all sink down to Ventris together?”
“Yes.”
I gave her a contemptuous look. “And you expect me to believe that?”
“Take me at my word—I’m not going to martyr you, and I won’t ask you to sacrifice yourself. But I believe that you deserved to know about the possibility of curing your friend.”
I ground my teeth together. Bullshit. Cyde had laid the trap with Finn as bait and waited for me to walk in. She was no better than Celane; she only wanted me to take the knife to my own throat. Against that, the grief in her eyes meant nothing.
She saw my anger and bowed her head. Accepting it.
“You may resent me,” she said. “I deserve that. But know that Commander Asan and her associates were only aware of the Renewer’s potential to purge Haunts; I never told them the rest. They didn’t deceive you.”
“You lied to them?”
“Yes.”
I remembered Rhyanon’s hand on my forehead, stroking my hair. She would have told me, if she knew. She would never have been part of this.
With difficulty, I pushed aside those feelings. “If I do what the Star wants, it could save Finn?”
“A small chance.”
I had promised to fix him. Any chance, no matter how small, was better than giving up. No matter the cost. I took a deep breath.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
Cyde nodded solemnly. “Then I’ll make sure you reach Ventris unharmed.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
THE PASSAGES WERE filled with flickering shadows. I lay in the dark and traced the dim outlines of the mosaics over the wall. The coloured tiles fit together like snake scales, cold and smooth and ancient. The longer I stared at them, the stranger the patterns grew: the swirling curlicues and looping spirals transformed from familiar to alien before my eyes.
So the Ash Disciples had it right all along. Our blood was tainted, our power corrupt. And my whole life devoted to preserving a myth. What a stupid waste. Although I guess it didn’t really matter—even if everyone had known the full ugliness of our origins, Sisters would probably have ended up performing much the same role. We would still serve and protect and sacrifice. We would still do good, and evil, and whatever else it took to get by, just to carve out a small space for ourselves and call it meaningful. Maybe telling a kinder story had made that duty easier to bear.
I closed my eyes.
Are you there? I thought.
Silence in response. I tried to listen deeper, to feel out which corners of my mind were foreign—the not-me parts—but it was like trying to identify which of my limbs belonged to someone else.
Do you want to hurt me?
Nothing.
Can you help him?
It was like calling out into a dark room; if the Star could hear me, she gave no sign. I hadn’t really expected a response. And, of course, there was always the possibility that Galain Myde had been delusional.
“El?” said Millie.
I wanted to pretend that I was asleep, just so that everyone would leave me alone. Talking to my friends was impossible; I could already anticipate their reactions. Finn would outright refuse to listen, while Millie would be unable to admit she wanted me to save her brother no matter the cost. Confessing to that would kill her. Well, not literally. Apparently dying was my job.
And if I told them about the Order’s origins, what then? Of course, there was no guarantee they were descended from Aytrium’s original inhabitants, but on some level, it didn’t even matter. In their hearts, I knew that they would lay secret, furtive claim to that heritage. A better, purer people. Not like me.
Perhaps I could have told Osan if he had stayed. He would have been more objective about the whole thing. I needed that; just calm clarity, just a balanced account of the costs and benefits. But he had returned to the Moon House with Cyde.
“Won’t you talk to me?” asked Millie.
In the next room, Finn sat and guarded Lariel. Anything I said, he would hear. I rolled over to face the wall.
“Nothing to tell you,” I replied, without opening my eyes.
Millie stayed quiet for a minute. I could hear her fidgeting, and I wished she would go away. I didn’t want to be counselled, and I definitely didn’t want her to lie to me. What could she say? Finn was her brother, her last remaining family. Of course she would be protective, of course she would value his life above mine, but the last thing I needed was to hear her rationalising those feelings. Behind every assurance, she would be asking me to die.
“Are you angry about the Resistance?” she asked.
“No.”
“You can be honest.”
“I am.”
Another pause. “It wasn’t like what you’re imagining, we’re not like Lariel. I would never have been part of—”
“It’s not about the Resistance, Millie!” My voice cracked, and I sat up. “I don’t care that your stupid little organisation plotted to kill my friends and colleagues. I don’t care that your girlfriend murdered my supervisor. I don’t care that you sat around and discussed how terrible
Sisters are, how you’re all so much better, and then acted like my best friend the next day. I don’t care.”
Millie stared at me, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide. She struggled to speak, but I got up and stalked out of the room.
“El!” she cried after me. “El, it wasn’t like that!”
I kept walking, back through the musty corridors, and away from the lantern light. I didn’t want any of this. Lariel was laughing; the sound echoed through the passages so that it seemed like a hundred women mocking me. Finn spoke sharply, and she stopped.
I slowed at the entrance. By now the rain had petered out, and the clouds were moonlit and shining. The thorn bushes glistened where the light touched them.
I breathed in, and cold air filled my lungs. Not Millie’s fault, none of this was her doing. But why did she have to look so utterly crushed? It was like I had slapped her. All I wanted was space, a little time to come to grips with the fact that I needed to die. Was that too much to ask? Why couldn’t she have just left me alone for once?
Because she doesn’t know. Because you’re too scared to tell her.
I crouched down and rubbed my eyes. Already, I regretted the outburst. I’d really done it this time too; once I’d started speaking, the words had rushed out like grain spilling from a ripped sack.
And I hadn’t even meant what I said, not really. I was just angry and tired and scared. I’d known about the Resistance for so long, and it hadn’t bothered me. It shouldn’t have bothered me. Civilians had good reasons to hate the Order, and Millie and Finn could associate with whoever they pleased. I could handle my feelings, and anyway, it was none of my business and it wasn’t personal.
I knew they didn’t hate me. I knew that.
The cold wind swept over my skin. I grimaced. Better to say sorry now; Millie would be hurt. She deserved better than me taking my frustrations out on her.
I straightened and turned back to the passage entrance, only to find Verje blocking my way.
The Councilwoman had been standing inches from me. Her limbs hung slack and her chest yawned open, revealing a cavity where her heart should be. When she spoke, white light poured from her mouth.
“It hurts,” she croaked. “Give it back.”
I staggered, almost tripping over my own feet. Around Verje, the darkness changed shape, forming creeping fingers of shadow, lips that gaped wide to reveal rows of red teeth. My head pulsed with pain.
“Look what you’ve done,” she moaned.
I could not tear my eyes away from her. Verje’s skin was the colour of ash. Small blue flowers grew between her ribs, bursting into bloom as I watched. Green shoots pushed through the dark swell of her lungs.
“I will take what’s mine.” Her voice was awful, rasping and broken. She lurched toward me. “I will be whole.”
I shook my head, unable to speak. Invisible hands crushed my throat. Verje’s arm shot forward and she grabbed me by the hair. Her skin was wet and hot. She pulled me closer. The light from her mouth burned like a naked flame where it touched my cheek.
“Follow the path of grace,” she hissed.
“El!”
I could smell her, jasmine and blood and molten metal. I jerked my head away from her, but she held fast. Her eyes bored into mine, glowing with malice.
Finn broke through the vision. Verje vanished with a shiver of light, and then his arms were around me. I sagged against him, all the strength in my legs deserting me.
“Are you okay?” he asked urgently. “El? El, say something.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Just breathe. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”
“I shouldn’t have let myself get so upset.”
“No, it’s fine, come on now. Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. He hugged me tighter, and then let go.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Let’s go back inside.”
My skin ached where the vision had touched me, and my head continued to throb. Was this how the other Renewers had felt? I was never going to make it; the nightmares threatened to drown me even here. How could I reach Ventris like this? I swayed, and Finn took hold of my elbow.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said.
Millie appeared at the entrance to the passages, a little out of breath.
“What happened?” Her skin was pale in the moonlight. “Finn ran so quickly; I thought—”
At that moment, Lariel made her move.
Finn saw the threat before I did. He lunged toward his sister with a warning shout. Not fast enough. Lariel grabbed Millie from behind, locked one arm across her chest, and shoved the point of a stolen crossbow bolt up against her windpipe.
“Stay where you are!” she shouted.
Finn froze. My stomach clenched—I had no lace; I had not restored my supply since breaking the Pillar.
“Don’t move.” Lariel looked unstable and weak. Her eyes were bloodshot. “I don’t want trouble, and I don’t want to hurt anybody. I just want to leave, okay? So go back inside and wait; I’ll take her—”
Millie drove her elbow into Lariel’s ribs. The sudden movement dragged the bolt across her neck, drawing a shallow gash. Blood welled from the cut; I cried out and involuntarily took a step forward. Lariel yanked Millie back into a chokehold.
“I told you to stay back!” she yelled.
I raised my hands helplessly. In my mind all I could see was the sharp metal spike of the crossbow bolt piercing Millie’s neck, the dark bloom of her blood. Don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her. But Millie continued to struggle, heedless of the danger.
“You’re too much of a coward to do it,” she panted. “Because if I’m killed, who’s going to protect you from Finn? Didn’t consider that, did you?”
“Shut up!”
“You never did think further than the step right in front of you. That’s how you ended up working for the Councilwomen, wasn’t it? That’s how everything starts with you.”
“I said, shut up!” Lariel dug the tip of the bolt into Millie’s skin.
“Please don’t,” I said desperately. “Please, we can work this out.”
Millie stamped down hard on Lariel’s foot.
“You are not going to take me anywhere,” she snarled, eyes blazing. She wrenched her arm free and grabbed the bolt, dragging it right out of Lariel’s grip. Lariel scrabbled to keep purchase, but instead lost her footing and fell over. Millie turned on her, teeth bared like an animal.
“I am done with you,” she hissed.
Lariel started to get up, her expression stricken. But then she seemed to lose all conviction. The change was shocking: her ferocity disappeared like a fire doused in mud. Her shoulders slumped, and she sagged back onto her heels.
“Don’t give me to the Order,” she whispered. “I’m begging you.”
For a moment, none of us spoke. Millie loomed over Lariel, her breathing loud. She threw aside the bolt, and it clattered against the passage wall.
“Did your victims beg?” she demanded. “Did you ever listen to them?”
Lariel hung her head. “Their deaths were swift.”
“That does not absolve you of anything!” Millie balled her fists, her expression anguished. “Why, Lariel? Why did you have to do this?”
“Millie,” Finn began, but she silenced him with a withering look. I found that I was holding my breath.
When Lariel spoke, her voice was hollow.
“Because there are never any consequences for Sisters,” she said. “I could spend my whole life under these women’s heels, and they would still demand gratitude for not crushing my neck completely.”
“And? You think the rest of us are any different?”
“No. And you’re right, I never intended to take it so far.” Lariel shrank, curling her arms around her body. “But I had power. For a little while, I meant something to them.” Her gaze drifted to me. “No matter which Councilwoman comes out on top, the Order will show me no mercy.�
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“Do you think you deserve mercy?” I asked quietly.
“What would you know?” Lariel shook her head, defeated. “Are you aware that Kamillian left me because of you?”
“Keep her out of this,” snapped Millie.
“Say what you will about the Resistance, she’ll always come down on your side.”
Millie looked like she wanted to hit Lariel again, but Finn placed a hand on her shoulder. He muttered something I failed to catch. Millie glanced up at him, and the tension left her shoulders. She gingerly touched the scratch on her neck.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s not deep.”
“Still. We can handle her.”
“I’m really fine.”
“I know. You always are.”
Millie scowled. Finn waited, and after a moment she sighed.
“Yeah, all right.” Her voice dropped. “I’ll take a walk.”
I should have said something. I wanted to tell her that I’d been wrong and stupid, and that she should sit down and let me take care of her, that she had scared me to death, but words deserted me. Millie walked past, stiff and bleeding and avoiding my gaze, and I did nothing to stop her.
All the while, Lariel watched my face. I don’t know what she saw there; her own expression was unreadable. When Finn turned to pick her up off the floor, she flinched. But her eyes stayed on me.
“You shouldn’t overexert yourself,” I said. “The injury to your head was serious.”
Finn glanced over his shoulder with a slight frown. I gestured for him to leave her.
“Mocking me?” asked Lariel.
“If you’ll let me look at it, maybe I can help you.”
“Why bother?”
I shrugged.
“What’s it to you, corpse eater?” She tried to sneer, but her voice quavered. “When you intend to trade my life for Kamillian’s, what does it matter?”
I took a few steps toward her and she scrambled backwards.