Page 4

Chapter 3

An Olive Branch

My eye caught on the enormous tapestry. It was the largest in the citadel and the focal point of the grand foyer. While many tapestries had been created since the citadel rose and depicted more recent scenes from the codex, like guardians battling wraiths and the Fallen, this one was from the time before.

It depicted our goddess gifting the original lumis orb to us in all the beauty of her Neven form—pale skin, pure white wings tipped in gold, long golden hair, delicately pointed ears and bright blue eyes. The artist had woven many of the details with a lumis thread that was so pure in its light it made something deep inside me ache.

It was also one of the few sources of lumis in the citadel that held no taint for me.

Anytime I’d been near it as a novice, I’d tried to find the slightest stain within the lumis thread, but it felt purer than anything else in this citadel. I couldn’t understand why it appeared so different to me in a way nobody else seemed to notice. The light within it called to me, but not in the soundless whisper of other wielded lumis. It hummed a subtle, haunting tune that beckoned me closer like the sweetest welcome.

It felt important somehow, yet intangible, in the way of a lost memory. Instinctively, I knew it meant something I couldn’t quite grasp.

Drifting over to the tapestry as if drawn by an invisible hand, I put my palm against the fine weave, stroking it gently. This close, it was impossible to see the full scene, as the scale was too large, but there were many smaller details woven into it—swirls and leafy vine patterns within the thread work of the larger design. I doubted most people noticed them, preferring to stand far back and take it all in at once.

There was a faint vibration coming from underneath my hand that echoed through me. A message, centuries old, wanting to be heard. It felt as if I were waking up from a dream and seeing clearly for the first time in years.

“Change always comes at a cost, doesn’t it?” Mara asked. Her voice right beside me made me jump. “And someone always pays.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She pointed at the tapestry. “I’m sure the world looked very different before the goddess shared her gift with the world and all the violence that followed. I’m not convinced we’re better off, but maybe that’s just a matter of perspective.”

“I guess.” I wasn’t sure where Mara was going with her train of thought. I would have expected her to be overjoyed at finally becoming a potentiate, yet she seemed introspective too.

I’d grown so used to being alone, even when others were around me, that she had me momentarily disoriented. I hated that I’d become so conditioned to being ignored that I now couldn’t seem to even hold a conversation.

“It’s intriguing how much you look like her,” she added, not at all put off by my short answers. “I know you don’t like the comparison, but it’s uncanny. Not that you can see much of anything of her this close.” She squinted up at the tapestry as if trying to bring it into better focus.

“It’s not the comparison that bothers me. It’s the meaning people read into it.” I dropped my hand as the truth slipped out, surprising me.

As a child, people had always talked about how the coloring of my skin, hair, and eyes were the same as the goddess. Back then, I hadn’t understood what they meant, believing they just thought I was pretty. It wasn’t until my wings came in that the talk intensified and I understood they were alluding to something more.

At birth, our wings were featherless membranes that stayed tightly contoured to our backs. At the age of eight or nine our feathers grew in, and our wings strengthened until they were finally able to bear our weight. When mine had grown in pure white tipped in gold, the talk had intensified, and people had openly speculated about what it meant, much to Elder Welkin’s fury. He’d shot down all the conjecture, but the fascination with my appearance continued in barely concealed whispers.

My wings often felt like a target on my back, despite how much I loved them.

“What I wouldn’t give to meet her,” Mara said, as she stared up to the heights of the tapestry with an awed expression. There was such an empty expanse between Mara and me, despite how close we were standing, that felt impossible to cross.

“A nice daydream, but it’s unlikely to happen. Nobody has seen the goddess since the citadel rose.”

She lowered her voice as she leaned closer to me. “Why do you think that is?”

That was a reckless question, even if asked quietly. Glancing around at the many passageways feeding into the foyer, I watched for any sign someone was lingering. It was unlikely anyone would hear us this close to the far wall, but the grand foyer had so many high, curved arches that sound had a strange way of echoing within it.

Before I could figure out how to respond, Mara shook her head at herself. She glanced around as well before she opened her mouth and closed it again. After spending so many years sitting wordlessly across from each other, we’d lost the easy camaraderie of our youth. Once upon a time she’d told me everything. Now talking to my childhood best friend was stilted and strange.

Glancing down, a tiny peek of red caught my eye beneath the sleeve of her robe as she fidgeted, and my heart skipped a beat as memories choked me. When we were thirteen, the day before we’d become novices together, we’d found two small stone beads outside my mother’s suite with fine carvings on them. Full of excitement, thinking moving into the dorms together would feel like being sisters, we’d wanted to turn them into matching bracelets. We’d gone scavenging for some thread and red had been the only color we’d found; we’d happily used it to braid the stones into a band we’d tied to our wrists. We wore them until we became acolytes, and any jewelry or other vanity had become strictly forbidden.

That she’d secretly worn hers today, of all days, had nostalgia rising.

She shifted on her feet restlessly while I held perfectly still, not wanting to spook her back into silence. Her next question started out faltering, then burst out in a rush, low and urgent, demolishing the dam she’d built years ago to hold them back.

“I know it’s our duty to share our light…but why have you fought so hard to stay through everything Elder Welkin put you through? If you’d just let yourself fail, he would have made a spectacle of you, then banished you to the town. You could have still been useful there. Maybe even happy. Your mother is indifferent to you, but she’s influential in Lumière. She would have arranged a marriage or found you a decent job. Why risk everything to become a vessel when he made it near impossible and it often ails you to wield?”

These were the questions I’d asked myself many times in the dark of night, and the ones I’d often seen in her eyes, even if she’d never spoken them before now. Hearing them out loud was startling, and a little confronting.

Mara drew in a sharp breath when she finished, as if she was trying to pull it all back in, though there was a determined glint in her eyes. Maybe she’d risked the questions now because there was a shift in the air we could both feel—a hint of something new and sharp on the breeze that whispered we were on the cusp of something life-altering.

I hoped we were.

Just because I’d chosen my path hadn’t made it easy, or less lonely.

My chest tightened as she stood looking at me with concern, the friend I remembered peeking through the mask of the acolyte. It made all the mannerisms that had become second nature after long years of training, like standing quietly and demurely looking at the floor, now feel like an unbearable weight. Emotions trickled through my own dam, the one I’d built so long ago to keep them safe. I wanted to reach out to her in this tiny, shared moment, a wisp of light in the darkness. She was the only person who had ever noticed wielding sometimes hurt me, or perhaps was the only person who cared.

Still, I considered my response. Once uttered, ill-considered words could never be taken back. Words held a power of their own. I’d learned that lesson the hard way and had grown used to keeping them locked away.

“I could tell you it’s because every firstborn female in my family has become a vessel and I refused to be the first to fail, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.” My heart felt like it grew fluttering wings inside my chest as I danced around a secret I’d held close for far too long.

“What’s the truth?” she asked, her question a hushed whisper.

Holding my breath for a moment, I wondered if I dared tell her, knowing it could reshape our friendship, maybe even our lives…or rip us apart for good.

Mara had gone still, and her eyes were enormous as they locked on me. This was the Mara I remembered—as tenacious as she was pragmatic, never one to look away. At least, she had been, before life forced her to be something else.

My gaze shifted away, unable to meet hers as I looked around again. I subtly brushed my damp palms over my robe as a hint of nausea rose anew, only this time, it had nothing to do with wielding. I was sure Elder Welkin had intended to pit us against each other by making us share our last test, but it’d had the opposite effect. It felt like he’d given me my friend back. But did that mean I could trust her with my deepest truths, the ones I’d guarded zealously for years?

It was a risk, but this truth had burned a hole in me and driven me to stay as an acolyte long after I should have given up. We were potentiates now. Once we were vessels, perhaps we could be allies again. Mara had always been smarter about the world than I had. At worst, she’d go back to avoiding me, but the bracelet on her wrist suggested otherwise.

My voice, when I finally spoke, was a whisper on the breeze that had Mara leaning in close. “When we became acolytes and started wielding more complex sigils, for me, the light began to feel tainted.”

Mara didn’t laugh or look at me like I was crazy, like I’d feared. She just matched my whisper and prompted me for more. “Tainted how?”

Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the unknown. “Like it’s polluted somehow. It used to make me feel nauseous as I pulled it through me, but lately, it’s burned. It’s more than that, though. I can almost hear it, like it’s screaming at me across a void. The echoes keep me awake at night. There’s either something wrong with the light, or with me. The only way to get answers is to become a vessel and learn their secrets.”

It was a torrent of whispered words I’d never uttered before, and I felt a strange relief at voicing them, despite the danger of doing so anywhere within the citadel. Mara didn’t scoff or tell me I was ridiculous, like my mother often had when I was a child. There was genuine worry in her eyes as she watched me.

“Why haven’t you told me this before?” She shook her head as soon as she asked the question. “Don’t answer that. I know why. I gave you no reason to trust me.”

It wasn’t that I hadn’t trusted her. I’d always known if I told her she would have tried harder to help me, but she’d had her own battles—ones she hadn’t shared either. We’d both taken the easier, lonelier path.

That conversation was too much of a minefield to have now, knowing Elder Welkin could be back at any moment, so I looked away again. It was what it was. I could feel her staring at me, though, and I could almost hear her mind working through what I’d said.

“Have you talked to your mother about it?”

It was a valid question. My mother was a powerful vessel. “I’ve hardly seen her since we became acolytes. I tried once, early on. She waved me off and told me it was my overactive imagination. She never gave me an opportunity to talk to her alone again after that. The vessels don’t give up their secrets easily, not even to their daughters.”

Mara nodded, more to herself than at my words, before she looked at the tapestry and put her hand out to touch it, much like I had a moment ago. “I can’t say I’ve ever felt what you described, but the energy that flowed through us when you wielded tonight felt different. It was stronger. More raw, yet also purer somehow. More like the lumis within this tapestry. How did you do that?”

My breath stuttered in my chest as I stilled, and my gaze dropped to our feet. There were truths within me that were begging to be shared, but others I wasn’t yet ready to face. Even in the darkness of the night, when there was only me holding vigil against everything trying to tear me down.

She reached out and grabbed my hand, startling me with the sudden contact. “Don’t answer that either. I haven’t earned your deepest truths, and I don’t want to hear you lie to me. Not now.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” I whispered, and it was the truth. I may have hidden many things, but I’d never lied to her.

“I know. You don’t have it in you to lie. I’ve always known that about you. Even when we got up to mischief as kids, you’d own up to it when we got caught.”

She couldn’t be more wrong. Lately, I lied to myself all the time. I was only now realizing how much.

“I can’t wait to become a vessel and be free from all this,” I said, needing to look to the future instead of the past. I didn’t need to elaborate on what. She already knew.

“Alula…” She sighed as she squeezed my hand, and it felt like a warning. I braced for whatever she would say next. “Have you ever considered Elder Welkin may not let you become a vessel? That he’s not just putting obstacles in your way to test you but means to refute you in any way he can? That he won’t rest until he breaks you?”

Frowning, I looked up at her, searching her expression for any hint of deception or trickery. Her brow was furrowed, but her gaze was earnest. A chill washed through me and I told myself it was from standing too long in the vaulted room, nothing more.

Knowing she could be right didn’t mean I wanted to acknowledge it. Not tonight. Not when I was only just remembering how to breathe freely again. “He officially made us both potentiates. What more can he do now?”

“He wields enormous influence within Lumière, more than any other elder. You think he can’t or won’t still strike at you?”

“No, but I don’t know why he would. I know people think my looks somehow connect me to the goddess, but that’s got nothing to do with who I am or what I can or can’t do. You’re way stronger at wielding lumis than I am. So are a lot of acolytes.”

I didn’t want to think about the acolytes who had shown more natural skill than me but Elder Welkin had failed early on, or what that could mean. I especially didn’t want to think too closely on how avoiding the truth as a survival mechanism felt a lot like cowardice.

“You’re right that appearances have nothing to do with skill, but your looks are why he will strike at you again and again. I’ve watched how Neven have reacted to you since we were kids. Power isn’t always about what you hold in your hands; it’s about what people believe. Everyone in this citadel wants to believe you’re special, regardless of if you are or not, and that makes you dangerous.”

“Me? I’m the least dangerous person in this citadel.” Lumière was full of hulking guardians that paced the passageways and scanned the skies. They either carried bows and fearsome gold-tipped arrows in the quivers between their wings, or broad swords strapped to their backs.

“You don’t need to wield a weapon to be dangerous. An idea can be just as dangerous, especially if it threatens those who ruthlessly hoard power.” She paused for a moment, considering her next words as carefully as I had a moment ago. “After seeing what happened to my family, I learned it’s usually the things we refuse to see that come back to strike us. I know you’ve been keeping your head down to survive; I have too. But this isn’t over, and this next stage isn’t what you think it’s going to be. We don’t always get to choose our path in this life, and you can’t afford to be blind to what’s happening around you anymore, Alula. The stakes are getting too high. You need to start owning your power.”

Everything within me rebelled at her words. Power wasn’t what I wanted; at least, not in the way it worked within this citadel. Serving the goddess was my only goal. Besides, the idea that I’d chosen my path was the only thing that had gotten me through the last five years. I couldn’t lose faith in it now.

Still, a chill ran up my spine at her serious expression. Her family had been through a lot. Even as a child, she’d always seen far too much and been wise beyond her years. Her words were like the strike of a gong—ringing echoes through me and into the world around us, stirring up things I struggled to push back down, but push them I did.

“I refuse to back down from this path, Mara, but I appreciate that you’re trying to help me.”

I squeezed her hand back. Her nod was brief and reluctant before she looked away. She’d always had an instinct for picking her battles. We stood in front of the glowing mural, two islands amongst the swirling current surrounding us. There was still so much space between us, filled with yet more secrets—mine and hers. A weight seemed to press on her, hunching her shoulders.

An urge rose to ask what that weight was, to show her the care she’d shown me, but I lacked the words and the courage. Acting on my instincts had been trained out of me long ago. I took a deep breath and looked away before I could grasp for more than the world was willing to give me. It was enough to feel like I had her back, even for a moment.

No matter what truths or fears we revealed tonight, our futures were still coming for us, ready to steal one—or both—of us away. Nothing could change that now. I closed my eyes and reveled in the feeling of someone standing at my side, standing with me, even if it was only a moment snatched from a dream.

An errant breeze wrapped my robe around my legs, and an unsettling sensation of being watched washed over me. Dropping her hand, I took a few steps toward an unlit service passageway in the back corner, rarely used by Neven. The passage curved into descending stairs, but I couldn’t see the bend through the thick shadows.

Many of the lumis orbs lining the passageways left me with a feeling of being watched, so the sensation wasn’t unfamiliar, yet this felt more intent and personal. I felt exposed without my hood to hide behind.

“What is it?” Mara asked.

“I’m not sure.”

A chill rush of goosebumps across my neck had me shivering. The shadows seemed to shift as I watched, drifting closer within the darkness, urging me closer too. In the dim light, I couldn’t tell if it was a trick of my eyes or something more sinister.

The sound of echoing footsteps reached us, but they weren’t coming from the passageway I was staring into. They were coming from the one Elder Welkin had disappeared down.

“Come on,” Mara hissed, tugging at my arm, paying no attention to the passageway that had me transfixed.

Letting her pull me away, I hustled alongside her, back to the spot he’d left us. Putting it down to being in an airy, open space after being contained in small rooms for years, I shook off the strange feeling.

Faint words reached us as we waited—ones I didn’t think we were supposed to hear.

“Stop making excuses and find them. The Fallen must have a stronghold somewhere. There’s too many of the filthy beasts. They’re hiding something, and I want to know what they are up to. Get it done, or I’ll find someone else who can.”

The old tales about the Fallen made them seem little more than a myth to me, designed to terrorize children into doing what they were told. Yet Elder Welkin spoke as if they were not only real, but an immediate threat.

One set of footsteps faded away while the other continued toward us. Moments later, Elder Welkin strode out of the darkness with a dark scowl on his face. I could feel his glare, but I kept my eyes downcast and my hands crossed demurely in front of me.

“Hurry up. We’re late,” he snapped.

I shot a glance at Mara behind his back to see if she’d heard the same thing I had, but she seemed more focused on keeping up with the irate elder. He didn’t slow, forcing us to almost run to catch up with him.

As we got closer to the Aedis, I could hear a growing cacophony of excited shouts and chatter. It had nervous butterflies exploding in my belly as Mara’s words echoed in my head. We’d only just scraped through one trial. Despite my initial disbelief of Mara’s concerns, I wouldn’t put it past Elder Welkin to throw us straight into another.

It had been so long since we’d been outside of the acolyte quarters. The noise alone had me faltering. Yet there was no option except to keep my head down and endure what came next if I wanted to become a vessel. I had withstood every challenge and punishment thrown at me as an acolyte, overcome every attempt to turn me from my path. Despite Mara’s fears, I could surely survive becoming a potentiate too.

As we got closer, loud laughter and the banging of mugs of ale echoed along the walls. Unlike us, the noble citizens of the citadel didn’t have to be quiet and decorous. They could yell if they wanted to, instead of screaming into their pillows at night.

I imagined an invisible shield of light around me—a trick I’d used when I was younger and felt overwhelmed.

Then I braced for what was to come.