Evenfall, p.7
Evenfall, page 7
“The festivities surrounding the Solstice are just another means of keeping people in line. Not violent, like the rest, but just as vile. He gives them eight days to bask in the magic that could—should—have surrounded them every day if it weren’t for his edicts. The people are too afraid to say anything, so they take what he offers, pretend it’s a gift.
“We’re all caged, and we can’t… We can’t go on like this. But you can change it. The old texts speak of a child born of three worlds. A person who won’t be hindered by the tears in reality—whose magic will reach across the planes and bring them balance.” Her gaze dipped down to the pendant resting around my neck. “You’re that person, Ember. And we’re all at your mercy.”
Chapter Eight
The men returned once more that night, searching the house from top to bottom. Or at least that’s what they believed.
I lingered in the hidden chamber, alone, munching on strawberry-flavored biscuits Ada had produced from her pocket right before she went to make an appearance upstairs.
Raised voices overpowered the sounds of their rummaging, but didn’t escalate beyond the point of what must have been moderate threats. Presumably, something Ada had already grown accustomed to since the only thing she did when she came to fetch me from the basement was mutter, “Pricks.”
I swallowed the last biscuit. “They’re gone?”
“Yeah, they’re gone.” She ran a hand through her hair, tugging on a strand. “We have until tomorrow at least.”
Telaria was nowhere in sight when we reemerged into the sitting room, and Lyra was fast asleep atop the armchair I had previously occupied, appearing just as worn-out as the rest of us. A glance at the grandfather clock positioned by the wall adjacent to the fireplace told me why.
It was late. Really late.
I must have lost track of time because it didn’t feel as if my sudden emergence in this world had been all that long ago, but with the illusions, the running, the hiding, not to mention the weight of a prophecy that was supposedly about me, I knew I wasn’t exactly the most reliable person. Even now, my mind continued to work in overdrive, examining the pieces of information and beliefs until they blurred into one large mess I had no hope to untangle.
Ada led me upstairs to a small bedroom with the promise that we would talk more tomorrow. Silence enveloped me as she closed the door, not even the shuffle of her feet audible, although I did sense she’d walked away.
Without the imminent threat of discovery, there was a different quality to the solitude—a pleasant calm that paved the way for the exhaustion to catch up with me in earnest.
Faintly, I wondered whether the guards had searched the chest of drawers, ran their hands across the duvet—as if Ada and Telaria’s privacy was something to be taken and given at will. But the thought died before it could grow roots.
I crawled onto the bed, not even bothering to change into the bundle of clothes Ada had set up on the dresser. The single thing I did was liberate my hair from the unruly braid before I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, not caring that the pillow beneath my cheek was not mine.
A whisper calling out my name curled around me. It lifted me from the silver-lined depths and into…
Darkness.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked again.
A starlit sky stretched beyond the window, the shadows leeching into the room kept at bay only by faint orbs of light floating through the space.
Right.
Somraque. Illusions. Endless night.
And Ada.
She was looking at me from where she stood in front of the closed door, her face guarded and posture cautious. One of her arms was twisted behind her back, out of my sight.
“You don’t have to hide,” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “The magic.”
Ada glanced at the orbs, but when I looked rather pointedly at her hand, she let it fall by her side to reveal a thin, already healing slice.
“Didn’t want to startle you,” she said far more quietly than I expected.
I perched myself on my elbows, and whether it was the sleep still blanketing the edges of my mind or some temporary acceptance of my predicament, I smiled.
“If you’d burst in here brandishing that damned knife,”—I chuckled—“now that would have been different.”
Ada’s green eyes widened, then crinkled, her own mouth curling up. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
She crossed the room in two elegant strides to sit on the edge of the bed. Her hair was pulled in a loose braid that tumbled over her shoulder, her profile softened by the glow of her orbs—or perhaps my own moment of humor—although a touch of distant pensiveness lingered in her gaze.
I turned my attention to the window just to the right at the foot of the bed and observed the…constellations. Yes, that was what the clusters of stars were called.
“Is it morning?”
“Late morning,” Ada replied almost instantly, then added when she saw my gaze drift between her and the night sky, “It must be…odd, for you.”
A low, husky laugh left my lips. I threw my head back onto the pillow.
I recalled the blazing light of the sun as it fell upon my skin whenever I drew back the heavy curtains in my bedchamber and left my dreams behind. Remembered the vibrant spill of colors that made my world what it was, a fundamental piece of its ever illuminated beauty. But also one that masked the rigid rules of our society with its effervescent nature.
“Actually, it’s kind of comforting,” I confessed. “The night.”
Ada cocked her head to the side but didn’t comment.
I lifted myself back up. “How long did I sleep?”
“A little over six hours. I made breakfast for you downstairs. If—if you want to come.”
The slight growl in my stomach was a nice touch, though I didn’t really need a reminder to know that I was starving. “Just let me get dressed and take care of…things…and I’ll join you.”
Ada scooted off the bed, the glowing orbs fluttering around like butterflies. “Oh, of course. Stars, I’m sorry. Like my mother said, I forget my manners.”
“I’m not that big on manners.” I flashed her a smile and swung my feet off the mattress. “But I do need to use the privy. Wouldn’t want to get blood everywhere in case my monthlies decided to linger another day and only tricked me with yesterday’s lull.”
Something eased in the room, as if my words had managed to knit together a bridge across the ravine that, while slowly narrowing, continued to stretch between us. Ada and I might have come from two different worlds, but there were things we both understood.
“At least you don’t have to worry about accidentally magicking something,” she mumbled, a laugh touching her voice. “My thirteenth year was…unexpected, to say the least.”
Relieved that my monthlies had, indeed, passed, I shrugged off my ruined gown and looked through the garments Ada had prepared for me. Not the nightclothes that still waited on the chest of drawers, but thin hose that fitted me like second skin and a dress in pristine condition.
I turned it around in my hands, then quickly pulled it on. While sconces with flickering embers of actual fire illuminated the bathing chamber, goosebumps had nonetheless started to spread down my exposed skin. The exhaustion still etched in my bones must have made me a touch more sensitive to the temperature. I was glad slipping into the dress was an easy affair. No straps or corsets to fasten.
Once the warm, smooth fabric slid over my hips, I glanced at my reflection in the full-length mirror taking up a third of the wall.
The dress was tame, much less flamboyant than the one I arrived in, the color a blue dark enough to pass for black, and the cut a simple A-line without any crinolines or additional skirts to hinder my movement. And yet for its demure, almost simple nature, there was something utterly lovely about it.
It wasn’t merely skill that had created this garment, but a keen eye and passion that imbued the fabric, the cut, with elegance and life.
A smile curved on my lips as I ran my hands down the front. But when my gaze skimmed the scoop neckline then caught on the sleeves, reaching just past my elbows, I halted.
While it wasn’t exactly frosty outside, if what I’d experienced yesterday was Somraque’s actual climate, I still wondered why Ada decided on something that left my forearms exposed. Even if I threw a coat over—
Realization slammed into me.
I let out a surprised laugh.
Magic.
Of course. It was their magic…
I had been too caught up in everything to pay attention to detail—or attempt to explain those I’d absorbed. But now that I thought about it, the seemingly unconnected pieces started to make sense.
My outfit, much like the ones I’d seen in Nysa, wasn’t just following some quirky fashion. The design derived from practicality. A way for the people to have access to their skin at all times.
While slashing a blade across the palm—or even a mere pinprick, as Ada had mentioned—seemed to be enough for the majority, it hadn’t escaped me that the sleeves of every dress, jacket, coat, or tunic had been wider, making it possible to pull the fabric up at a moment’s notice. My mouth curled up at the peculiarity of this world—and at the fact that I was learning.
Good to know that landing somewhere unfamiliar didn’t strip me of my observational skills entirely.
I finger-combed my silver hair and left it hanging down since I didn’t think anyone in this world would mind such a casual style, then ventured out in the hallway and made my way downstairs. Ada was waiting for me in the kitchen—but so was Telaria.
Not a sight I had wished to see so soon after last night, given her chiding tone still crashed through my mind, but one I expected nonetheless. I offered her one of my carefully constructed smiles and took the chair Ada had motioned to before she mouthed “Sorry” behind her mother’s back.
Telaria must have given her a false impression that we’d be alone.
I had to stifle a snort. The woman was cunning. I had to give her that.
Ada squeezed a small plate with hard-boiled eggs among the many already laid out on the square-shaped walnut table. Contrary to what I was accustomed to from home, the setting was intimate. Not for lack of space since their house was fairly large, but because the merged kitchen and dining room were arranged with family, instead of appearances, in mind. I bit my tongue before I could ask how long it had been just the two of them here, and guided my finger along the worn, age-soft wood instead.
Bread rolls were stacked on a plate at the very center of the table, a serving of butter and marmalade set beside them. Eagerly, I snatched one of the still-warm rolls from the top and practically devoured it in what my parents would undoubtedly mark as an unladylike manner. I took my time with the second, however, slicing it apart with the silver knife and spreading a thin layer of butter with a whole lot of strawberry jam on top.
Ada chuckled silently as I tried my best to eat slowly, but the hunger won.
Much to my surprise, even Telaria waited until I finished the fourth roll and reached for my cup of green tea before she resumed with her agenda of not giving me adequate answers. Once more, she spoke about the prophecy—in even fewer words than Ada had yesterday—but it seemed she was adamant to refrain from calling me the One. Which, I had to admit, was perfectly fine with me.
I had always been different. I knew that much. But in Soltzen, special was considered as a shortcoming, not something to be celebrated. Besides, I had a hard time coming to terms with just what Ada and Telaria’s version of special encompassed.
Savior. In possession of extraordinary power.
It was the one front on which the two women stood united.
But believing in something didn’t make it true. Even if I’d had more than my fair share of experiences lately that proved otherwise.
I leaned over to refill my tea when Telaria fell silent at last. The pause was thick with expectancy. My turn to say something. Or at the very least react.
As I set the kettle down, I caught Ada’s attention, her fingers tensing around her cup.
“You mentioned a child born of three worlds,” I started, forcefully stifling a laugh that wanted to claw its way to the surface at the absurdity of it all. “You mean to say that their ancestors come from Soltzen, Somraque, and…” I searched for the name, but it eluded me.
“Svitanye,” Ada offered.
I gave her a grateful smile. “And Svitanye.”
“Like yours do.” She shifted forward in her seat just when I opened my mouth to argue that she couldn’t possibly know that unless her Mage abilities extended to reading a person’s origin. “After the world fractured, our magic became bound to our respective lands.”
I frowned. “Were the lands separated even before? Had only High Masters lived in Soltzen, Mages, Magicians, and Illusionists in Somraque—”
“No.” Telaria’s voice was oddly soft, yet lined with unmistakable bitterness. “The magics were native to their respective lands, which is why most people chose to make their homes where they were the strongest. Somraque was—is—the domain of our powers. While a Mage could exist in Soltzen, even possess the full scope of their magic, they would nonetheless feel out of place.”
“Wait… But if the different magics work in all lands”—I lifted the chain around my neck, the pendant swaying—“then why was this so important?”
I let it drop back down as Ada stood to clear away the plates, offering her mother the stage.
Telaria handed her cup to Ada, then faced me once more. “Ever since the break, save for the savior, only those native to the land are able to wield magic.”
The silence that stretched between us was inky, almost tangible. Even Ada paused by the counter, a plate clutched in her motionless hands.
The truth coalesced into a harsh, solid weight in the pit of my stomach. It didn’t need any explanation, but still, I ventured, “So if someone native to Soltzen was in Somraque when the fracture happened…”
“They would have been like me.” Telaria rubbed a finger across one of the more prominent silver veins on the inside of her arm. “Powerless.”
My chest seemed too tight, too constraining to accept the air my body craved. “What happened to them?”
Telaria didn’t flinch as she said, “They chose not to live a half-life.”
Chapter Nine
The moon bathed me in its silver light as I stole a very much needed moment for myself away from the confines of the house.
I lingered by the wall facing away from Nysa so that all I saw was the endless expanse of rock and the starlit sky. Telaria hadn’t tried to stop me when I’d marched outside, and I heard no traces of Ada’s approach. I leaned against the cool stones, the touch of winter caressing my exposed forearms.
With every second that passed, the turmoil inside me calmed. There was nothing I could do for those people who had chosen death over a powerless existence, but…
I wrapped my fingers around the pendant, feeling the magic in its core like a heartbeat.
I was different.
With one last glance at the moon, its observant face that seemed to watch me with interest, I strode back inside.
Ada and Telaria were both seated, their conversation dying down before I could make out a single word. I didn’t take my place at the table—instead, I remained standing, shifting my attention from one to the other.
“So I have magic that isn’t bound to the borders of my land. But surely I can’t be the only one? If all three…” Races didn’t seem right since aside from the power, I really didn’t feel as if we were that different from one another. “If all three people mixed, there must have been other children, other descendants with a lineage similar to mine.”
“There have.” Telaria sighed and folded her napkin. “At least my ancestors had sensed them. But none had ever been born in Somraque, or on a Solstice when the veil is thinner. And that flicker of power that came into existence at their births—it never lasted beyond that first flare, rendering them untraceable. So when I felt yours… Preventing you from entering our world had only been part of the importance of the spell. I feared that if I didn’t shield your power, if I didn’t preserve it in your core, your world would have snuffed it out before it could assert itself, as it did the others.”
I pursed my lips and leaned against the windowsill. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t recall anyone ever mentioning people in possession of power that varied from what we were accustomed to in Soltzen. Surely one of them would have risen as a High Master if that were the case.
So maybe there was merit in her words. Maybe if she hadn’t shielded me, I would have been just like the rest.
Not that I had any indication of my supposed powers yet, beyond the use of the pendant in Somraque.
“Let’s pretend for a moment”—I blew out a breath—“that I believe I’m the person you have been waiting for. How am I supposed to unite all three worlds?”
Telaria’s gaze flickered to Ada. Her eyes widened in realization that her mother was returning her previous courtesy, giving her the opportunity to explain.
Needless to say, I was relieved.
While Telaria had been uncharacteristically straightforward when speaking of the past, I wasn’t willing to bet she could keep herself from wrapping the facts in shrouds of mystery. Ada, on the other hand, preferred a blunt approach. And so did I.
Even if it still was, at times, confusing.
“Well,” she began, tossing her braid over her shoulder, “there is a story of creation that exists among our people. It has more variants than there are pints of sowhl at the celebration, but our ancestors dug up its core.” She glanced at her mother, then sat up straighter, a low-burning passion creeping into her voice. “And we believe it to be the truth. The story, legend—whatever you wish to call it—doesn’t say why the world broke apart. Not to any satisfying degree, at least. But it does mention what held it together. A relic.”
