What a waste of a perfectly good robe.
I set back to work, straining to hear what’s taking place in the chamber beyond. The door is too well sealed to see anything beneath it or between the frame and hinges. But the barest hint of sulphur and char reaches my nose through the cracks.
By the Primordial, for all I know, it’s already done. The girl could open the door, swagger out, having achieved something even Sephine possibly never attempted. I wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled it off. I wouldn’t have led her to this if I hadn’t concluded her odds were good.
Then again, she could have failed. Behind that door might already be one body, possibly two. Or there could be a dead girl at the feet of a trained fighter possessed with the Lost God’s lust to conquer and subjugate everything he lays eyes upon.
And that will be on me.
CHAPTER 25
RAKEL
The darkness flowing into my hands quickens, strengthens, grows.
It was a steady stream, a trickle I could manage despite the pain, but now it’s like too much water flowing down an irrigation canal, swamping over the top of a sluice gate.
Ash gasps as the tattoos up his forearms tear. Blood splatters on to the altar, droplets running races to the stone floor, others soaking into the sandstone.
Shadows coil free from his bleeding flesh and rear back like snakes before lunging for the strike. Ropes of darkness wrap around my wrists, cruel and heavy as shackles. The urge is to fight it, to draw back, to sever the bindings. To stop the acid-burn coating my skin. Find relief from the dragging exhaustion as it sinks into me.
But I can do this. I’ve survived the elixir before.
I have the gift.
Luz said it. Even Yaita admitted it. I will channel the will of Asmudtag, as the Order calls it. The Primordial deity stands for balance. And surely freeing Ash from his curse is an act of balance. If there is any truth in the gods, I will find it here.
An inhuman, guttural moan reverberates through the chamber.
I’d think it were Ash if it weren’t so large a sound, like it’s coming from a distance and nearby all at once. For a moment, I could swear the altar itself shuddered. Ash’s eyes go wide, intense concentration replaced with fear.
Is he doing this? Some sort of amplified power from all the ceremonial smoke we’ve been breathing? Or is this him losing control?
“Ash, stay with me.”
He grits his teeth but doesn’t reply. I can see he’s fighting, tendons standing out on his neck, muscles flexed as if he’s battling to keep himself still, all the more crimson pumping from his torn arms. His war is internal and there’s nothing I can do but keep going, allowing the darkness to transfer to me.
Then there’s a deep shudder, the copper braziers rattling in their stands, almost like the whole temple is shivering. Is the power within Ash truly doing this? Is this what Zostar has been looking to harness?
The violent trembling begins again. And I recognize it for what it is.
Rancid reeking rankness.
Groundshake.
A big one.
The floor heaves beneath my feet.
A huge one.
They say this temple has stood for millennia. Through all the upheaval beneath the province. Now cracks begin to form, smaller lines fanning out from them like the veins of a leaf. One appears between my boots. First it’s the width of a hair, then a reed, then a finger. I jostle to get two feet on one side, desperate not to break contact with Ash.
Somewhere beneath us, there’s a horrible grinding, grating sound. The gap in the floor widens, so that I can see between layers of rough-cut stone to the twenty – or thirty-foot drop to the next chamber below. A firebird looks up through the rift, eyes terror wide, barely dodging falling debris.
Sephine’s notes said nothing about what would happen if the ceremony wasn’t completed. I’ve no intention of finding out.
“Hold on, Ash.”
But the shadows are swirling with the smoke now; they’re drawing to him, to me. His eyes are closed, his head rocks back, and he gives no indication he’s heard.
Sherds of sandstone and mortar rain down on us, one slicing through my smock to bite into the soft part of my upper arm. I barely register the pain, too intent on what’s happening overhead. The roof over the great altar is moving apart, inch by inch.
The sacred smoke of the ceremony rushes to it like a well-flued chimney, faster and faster, swirling around us and then disappearing into the sky.
The shadow that remains is everywhere. It’s all over me. Stinging, burning, smothering until I’m lost in the darkness.
All is black.
CHAPTER 26
LUZ
As it turns out, my lock picking skills were not required – the Primordial saw to that.
The floor finally ceases undulating, having torn apart ancient masonry and mortar, rending a wound so deep it looks like the temple was cleaved in two. Both Yaita and I are covered in powdered detritus, blood oozing slowly from a dozen lacerations. By Asmudtag’s grace, we have no major injuries.
One half of the retractable stone roof has fallen from its frame. I peer through the clouds of dust and ash still billowing in what’s left of the ceremonial chamber. Trepidation courses through me at the sight – nothing else moves.
There’s a scrape as the Shield emerges from the dust, dragging his left foot, the ankle at such an awkward angle I’d venture bone is broken. Still, he’s cradling the girl in his arms.
“What have you done?” Yaita veritably screams at him.
“Help her,” is all he says in response. “Please.”
He places the girl’s still form on the great altar, not far from the chasm now running through the floor. At any other time it would be sacrilege. But there’s no high priestess here, and I do not share the scruples of some.
Yaita takes in the sight of her daughter’s still form. A small vial of what is no doubt Asmudtagian elixir appearing from beneath the long sleeves of her robe. Ah, so Sephine had let her unofficial apprentice take certain liberties. Because I doubt the other ancients at the Sanctuary would have afforded her the revered liquid.
She lurches into a run and opens the vial, reckless in her desperation. Several dark drops fall to the floor as she leaps the great rend wreaked by the groundshake. She bends to her daughter, one hand on an unmoving shoulder, another on her stomach.
“Is she breathing?” I ask.
Yaita doesn’t reply. She’s inhaling deeply from the vial. Her eyes are closed, her brow creased. She’s focusing her energy. I’d witnessed Sephine do this only a handful of times. The last from afar, in the dahkai plantation the night the Prince was poisoned and she tried to save him. Her last night in the mortal realm.
She places two hands to the girl’s temples. The braziers leap back into flame, guttering until they’re once again burning clear. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was seeing things.
By the grace of the Primordial, colour begins to return to the girl’s cheeks as it drains from her mother’s.
Still, she doesn’t wake.
A trembling begins in Yaita’s hands, her now-pallid forehead beading with sweat. The girl’s chest begins to rise and fall, deep and even as with the rhythm of sleep.
Yaita sways, then topples over, her head smacking against the stone floor.
I cross to her. She’s out cold. A pulse beats weakly at her throat.
As it was with Sephine, there’s nothing I can do for her.
CHAPTER 27
ASH
Rakel didn’t regain consciousness. Nor did her mother.
Barden didn’t want to let me in to see her, but Nisai overruled him. Even so, I’m being given a strictly limited visit, chaperoned for the entire duration by Kip.
When we enter the room, Barden is sitting at Rakel’s bedside, staring into space. The air is thick with sacred incense, no doubt funded by Nisai. It’s a combination similar to what surrounds me when I reinfuse my prayer bra
nd – an appeal to the strengths and mercy of each of the deities. Even Azered who guides the souls of the living to their afterlife. My throat tightens at the thought.
“What’s he doing here?” the Aphorain demands.
Anguish is written all over his face, in the hunch of his shoulders, his hands flexed into fists one heartbeat and spread wide the next, like he needs something to do with them but has no idea what. Now I’m here, I suppose he’s imagining the most appropriate thing would be for said fists to connect with my face.
Kip stands between us. “Barden, go check on Nisai,” the Losian orders.
“I … you can’t tell me what—”
She folds her arms. “Just do it.”
He glares at the swept stone floor, then decides not to argue further. Hauling himself to his feet, he pointedly takes his time retying the already knotted calf straps of his standard guard-issue sandals. Then he shoves past me – shoulder and elbow tensed with all his strength by the feel of the impact – and leaves the room.
Kip takes up a seat in the corner, pulls out a whetstone and begins to sharpen one of the many knives she secretes around her person. The rasp feels like it’s flaying my nerves.
“Do you have to?”
She raises her eyebrows. It’s a look that says she might have been generous enough to back me being able to see Rakel, but that I best not push it if I know what’s good for me.
I take the seat Barden has only recently left, doing my best to ignore the residual body heat, and gently lift Rakel’s hand into both of my own. Her fingers are cool and dry and perfectly still.
“Has there been any change?”
“Nuh-uh,” Kip grunts.
“Her mother? Has she come to?”
“Nuh-uh.”
I don’t know what to say. I’ve already cursed myself a hundred times over, and yet it still isn’t enough. So, I simply sit, holding Rakel’s hand, smoothing her hair where it has grown long enough to spike out in different directions.
My mind races through the scenes from the temple in a vicious loop. It’s only when Kip’s whetstone stops mid-swipe that I realize the sob I just heard was from my own lips.
“I come from military stock,” she says, starting up with the whetstone again like she’s using each stroke to punctuate her words.
“What’s that got to do with any of this?”
“My family has had the most Province Commanders of any Losian line since the Accord,” she continues. “Soldiering is in my blood. But I wasn’t satisfied with that. I wanted to be a Ranger. They’ve always held themselves above the province forces. Their recruitment tests are tougher. I wasn’t going to be looked down on by anyone, and I wasn’t going to let my sister be looked down on, either.”
“You have a sister?” This is the first I’ve ever heard her speak of family at all, let alone siblings.
“One. Younger. By a few hundred heartbeats, give or take.”
It takes a moment for that to sink in. She really does hold her game pieces close to her chest. “You’re a twin?”
“Whether by a breath or a turn, Tayar’s still younger. She was my responsibility. And I let her down. As far as I was concerned, we were both going to become Rangers. We’d go on campaign together. Return home decorated. Make our father proud, but on our own terms. Tayar would’ve been content staying in Los. Just because we’re twins doesn’t mean we shared the same mind. But I wouldn’t settle for anything less than Rangers for both of us. I dragged her out on mock missions every time I could. Sometimes going for days when we had leave from province cadet training, venturing into the edges of the Wastes. Pushing our endurance, our survival skills out where there’d be nobody to aid us.”
She sets down the blade and stone, and for a heartbeat I think she’s done with her tale. She stares at the ceiling for a long pause, then locks her gaze with mine.
“The last time we went out together…” She shakes her head, closing her eyes. When she looks back across the room at me, over Rakel’s still form beneath the blanket, I recognize the heaviness in her expression. The familiar weight of shame.
“What happened?” I ask gently.
She goes very still, the only movement the candlelight dancing across her features. “I pushed too hard.”
I can barely bring myself to ask what’s on my mind. “She died?”
“No. But after that day she wasn’t going to be a camp cook, let alone a soldier in the province army. And dead certain not a Ranger.”
“But you became one.”
“I had to. I couldn’t stay at home a day longer. My presence was a taunt. I didn’t want her to have to live like that. So, I left.” She gestures to Rakel. “Nobody else will risk being in the same room with you. I’m here because I know what it is to hurt someone you love. Say what you have to say to her. But make it quick. You’ve not got all night.”
“Actually, I was hoping to write something.”
Kip nods slowly. “Sometimes it’s easier that way.” She rises from her seat and opens the door, sticking her head out. “Get us parchment and ink, would you?”
When the guard returns with the writing equipment, I find I’m at a loss for words. I never imagined willingly doing this. But I don’t see any other way.
If I stay, Rakel won’t be safe.
Nobody will ever be truly safe near me.
But Rakel? I know her. She’ll find a way to twist this into being just a setback. And I know it’s more than that. When the very earth started revolting beneath us, it was a sign. Even the gods think I should be destroyed, lest I be the Lost God’s path to resurgence.
I take up the reed stylus and begin to write.
CHAPTER 28
RAKEL
I awake alone.
Someone has put me to bed, bandaged a deep cut on my upper arm, and changed me into a fresh nightgown. It’s an unnerving thought, until I notice the lingering scent of violets on my blanket. It says enough about who saw to me after I collapsed – Luz.
Huh. Reunited with my long-lost mother and she doesn’t even tend my wounds when I’m hurt. Can’t say I’m surprised. Guess letters were Yaita’s limit after all.
I sit up and the room swims. Everything in it looks soft, the edges blurred as they were after I healed Nisai, only more so. I press the heels of my hands to my temples as flashes of the ceremony return to me. Smoke. Shadow swirling, burning into me like acid. The terrible feeling of the floor heaving beneath my feet. The chasm that tore open near the great altar. The look of pain and horror on Ash’s face. Devouring darkness. Everywhere black. Then nothing.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, then wish I hadn’t moved so quickly. Forcing myself to breathe deeply, I find some steadiness. When the dizzy feeling subsides, I stand and cross the room to the silver mirror.
There’s a graze on my forehead from where it must have hit the temple floor. Is that why my vision is blurred? I gently press a finger around the edge and give it an experimental sniff. The scrape isn’t deep, but I’m grateful Luz still cleaned it with honeywine and sealed it with olive oil to keep it from festering.
I lean closer to my reflection. My eyes. Maybe I should have expected it, given how Sephine’s were entirely dark. But it’s still unnerving to see the tiny webs of blood vessels have turned black.
If this is how the ceremony left me, what about Ash?
Did it work? Is he all right?
I’ve got to find him. But the headache pounding through my skull, like nothing I’ve ever experienced, says otherwise. I lay down on the bed, intending only to rest my eyes for a few moments, only to startle awake when Kip raps on the open door. I have no idea how long I drifted.
“You’re back with us,” she says, a note of surprise in her usually deadpan manner. “Good.”
“How’s Ash?”
“Shield was here last night, checking on you.”
For a moment I think she’s making some obscure comment about herself, but then I remember she’s never once called
herself by that title, even when she was officially serving as Ash’s stand-in. A Ranger is for life.
“He left something for you.” She reaches into her leather vest, pulls out a small, folded packet and passes it to me. “Can you walk? There’s a meeting. The Emperor-elect wants you there.”
I tuck the packet into my satchel. I’m desperate to see what it contains. But I also know that if it’s from Ash, I want to read it alone, not with Kip looming impatiently over me.
“Give me a moment,” I say.
“Don’t keep the Emperor-elect waiting.”
“I’m not going anywhere without my boots. Not even for a Prince.”
“Emperor-elect.”
I wave that away. “‘Prince’ rolls off the tongue easier.”
Her flat stare ends in a shrug that says: “it’s your nose you’re risking”.
As we start off down the hall, something crunches beneath my feet. Sherds of stone and mortar litter our path, more on the left than right. I’d thought my uneven gait was an injury or stiffness. But it’s not me. The floor itself now tilts.
In the quarters the high priestess had granted Nisai, we find Barden. There’s only a couple of candles lit, so he’s not much more than an outline, his head bent over some documents. Strange. He was always better with his words than me – all palace guards are expected to read and write just in case – but what’s caught his interest in the Prince’s documents?
No doubt something that he hopes will help him climb further up the imperial ladder.
I clear my throat.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Barden blurts as he jerks back, looking as sheepish as when we were kids thieving oranges from Old Man Kelruk’s grove. Now, the grove makes me think of Ash.
“Where is he?” I ask.
Barden scowls. He knows I’m not talking about the Prince. “I don’t know. Kip just said he’d made himself scarce after visiting you. Can’t say I’m sorry.” At his last words he looks painfully uncomfortable, like he’s gone too far. “I mean, I’m sorry for you. I know you cared for him.”
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