Page 12

CHAPTER 12

Elva tipped her head back as Oriann braided her hair in elaborate plaits.

Her scalp hurt from the weight of all the ribbons and pearls, but the pain helped her focus, a sharp edge against the worry raging in her chest.

‘How is the corset feeling?’ Oriann asked.

She took a breath, assessing.

Her ribs were squashed, but her breath came in steady pulls, and her vision didn’t swim.

‘Much better, thank you.’

Elva watched as the corners of Oriann’s lips pulled skywards in the mirror, and she finished tying the ribbons in her hair.

‘It’s the type of corset I usually wear.

The one Advisor Gudren sent is what the men think we like.

’

Elva stared at Oriann, her red hair swept back into a cascade of curls and, not for the first time, wondered who exactly this woman was.

It was an easier train of thought than thinking about the second ceremony.

When her hair was done, Oriann went to the dresser and pulled out an elaborate mass of fabric.

Green ribbons and frills cascaded to the ground, the tiers of the dress looking more like a wedding cake than an item of clothing.

‘Advisor Gudren has asked for you to wear this to the second ceremony.’

Elva stared at the dress.

It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen.

‘Great.’

Oriann scoffed, and Elva felt the corners of her lips turn up in a half-smile.

They pulled the dress over her head, their confusion turning to muffled laughter when the lace kept getting caught in Elva’s hair.

When it was finally on, Oriann spun her to the mirror and she took in her reflection.

She looked ridiculous.

Bound and puffed in all the wrong places, a festive ornament, definitely not a warrior.

Her scars and tattoo were firmly hidden behind the thick material.

She wouldn’t be surprised if Neve was cackling from her resting place on the Bridge of Endings, the absurd sight powerful enough to wake her eternal slumber.

The door to her quarters opened, and she heard the familiar footfall of Avi before she saw him.

She poked her head from around her bedroom door and called out, ‘In here.’

His footsteps approached.

‘How long are you going to be? I ran into the advisor and he’s waiting for you.

Ori— Ah, I mean, Lady Oriann.

What are you doing here?

’ Avi halted as he entered the room.

Elva’s curiosity piqued and she glanced between the two.

‘We’re almost done,’ Oriann said, moving to finish tucking the lace strands into Elva’s dress.

Elva met Avi’s gaze through the mirror, and her surprise turned into a grin when he blushed crimson.

She didn’t know if this was acknowledgement of a relationship or just a mere crush, but boy was it nice to have a piece of harmless gossip to distract from the adrenalin coursing through her veins.

Avi cleared his throat.

‘I’ll wait out here.

’ He stumbled out the door, making more bangs than were strictly necessary.

Elva snorted.

‘Men,’ Oriann grumbled into the tiers of fabric.

‘Oh, gods, apologies, Your Highness. I didn’t mean—’

Elva waved off the apology, her grin growing so the apple of her cheeks cramped.

‘Don’t apologise.

It’s the first reasonable thing someone’s said since I arrived.

’

The second ceremony was to be held in the Library of Ever, in honour of Rivalin, God of Foresight, and Illitas, God of Hindsight.

Elva stared out the window of the carriage as it rumbled along the cobblestones, gaze trained on the twisting spires of the Seacht’s temples, which rose above the city.

She pressed the skin next to her thumb to distract herself from what was to come as they turned into a wide road lined with fig trees.

Dappled sunlight shone through the leaves of the canopy above, cocooning the street in moving shadows, creating a hushed reverence at odds with the bustling city around them.

The Library of Ever sat at the end of the street, a resplendent stone building decorated with intricate spiral-patterned carvings.

The library was a unique place within Cailoch.

While situated in the capital of Clochain, it was an institution run by the gods – specifically the gods of Foresight and Hindsight – and was used as a base for the demigods whose gifts aligned with their forefathers.

Every demigod’s ability differed, both in skill type and abject power.

The Seacht were as ruthless with their offspring as they were the Ever Blessed, and only those deemed fit for purpose survived.

They all had to pledge allegiance to the Seacht, serving them body, mind and magic until the Ending.

The thought made her palms tacky, which was exacerbated by the fact that the dress smudged dark with her sweat.

The nerves she’d been trying to keep at bay barrelled back, and she pinched the triangle of flesh even harder.

She’d passed the first test, the second was only another step in the journey.

This is just another battle in the war , she told herself.

She could fight the feelings of dread.

She had to – if not for her people, then for her own life.

A wave of sound washed over her as the carriage slowed, pulling up in front of the library where giant stone pillars framed the entrance.

Hundreds of people clapped and shouted, their shabby clothing and hunched frames obvious in comparison to the guards stationed outside the doors.

She’d been kept at the castle for so long she was yet to meet the city folk, and what she saw made her heart lurch.

They looked hungry, their faces gaunt and pallid.

It was one thing to know about the blight, another to see it on the faces of her enemy.

The border war between Vettona and Clochain was fought over the Seedle Plains, rich farming land which lay at the base of the Arden Mountains on Vettona’s side.

It was well known Clochain didn’t have arable land; they once had fields which spread across the southern tip of the island, but the plains fell into disrepair after the Great War.

The land was now barren, devoid of new life.

The marriage treaty aimed to mitigate this; trade routes were opening between their two nations in an effort to soften the effects of the blight for both of their peoples, but a small part of her wondered if it was too little too late.

Not for the first time, she mused, Why did Clochain agree to the treaty now?

And why are they making me jump through hoops for something that would benefit their own people?

The carriage door opened, and she stepped out.

As soon as her feet hit the pavement her Ever flashed a warning.

She’d known magic would be wielded here; it was an institute staffed by an order of demigods called mystics, but that didn’t stop her full body shudder.

It was one thing to interact with Advisor Gudren in small doses, another to walk into a den of the Seacht in nothing but lace and ribbons.

Another carriage drew up behind her and a wall of sound erupted as Fyn emerged.

She hadn’t seen him since the fresco incident and she had no idea what they were about to walk into.

But standing on the steps of the library, she realised she should have done more to figure out what the second ceremony was – and how they might be able to get through it without forfeiting their lives.

Even if you had the correct information, it doesn’t mean you would have made the right call , Neve’s memory taunted.

She straightened her shoulders and turned to Fyn.

She took in his dark suit, which fit his broad shoulders perfectly, and that damn spark of intrigue fluttered again.

No wonder you make such bad calls if this is what you’re constantly thinking about , Neve heckled.

She ignored her friend and followed Fyn up the stairs, training her gaze on his back and definitely nothing lower.

As soon as they stepped over the threshold the sounds of the outside world vanished.

The building was cool and dark, and it took a moment for Elva’s eyes to adjust.

The hallway opened into an enormous oval reading room, walls lined with books.

It was three storeys high with curved balconies ringing the sides, and the heads of demigods peeked over the bannisters, sneaking glances at the proceedings.

The roof was domed in a dramatic arch, and sunlight shone through stained-glass windows, creating a kaleidoscope of colour that cast everything in warm hues.

In the middle of the chamber was an ornamental fountain the height of a human, carved with sweeping spiral patterns.

Standing in a semi-circle around the fountain were seven priests in plum-coloured robes, Advisor Gudren, King Dermont and a woman Elva didn’t recognise.

She wore maroon robes and had snow-white hair swept back in a low bun, accentuating her jawline and pursed lips.

She guessed the woman was her mother’s age, but demigods aged differently than humans, so who knew how old the woman actually was.

Laugh lines curled at the corners of her blue eyes, which looked at Elva in amusement, and the glint of a golden necklace shone at her neck, its pendant hidden by the collar of her robes.

She was, Elva thought with a start, one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

And the first woman she’d seen in Clochain who held a position of power.

‘Welcome, Prince Fynton and Princess Elva,’ the priests intoned in unison.

‘It is with the blessing of the Seacht we greet you on this cardinal day. Please step forwards.’

Elva glanced behind her.

Aside from herself and Fyn there were no other humans here except for a smattering of guards, and the king.

She felt clammy, and didn’t know where to look or what to do with her hands.

She glanced at Fyn.

His jaw was tight as he stared blankly ahead, barely acknowledging his father or Advisor Gudren.

‘In the name of Rivalin and Illitas, founding members of the Seacht, we welcome you to the Library of Ever, home to the gathering of knowledge and sanctuary to the worthy,’ the priests continued.

‘The ceremony today will be conducted with the assistance of Mystic Agnes, a demigod of the library and acolyte of Illitas.’

Mystic Agnes swept forwards, the long arms of her robes trailing on the floor behind her.

‘Welcome to the Library of Ever, Captain Elva and Captain Fynton.’

Elva’s breath caught.

No one had called her captain since she had arrived in Clochain, and the title made her heart swell and ache in equal measure.

She glanced at Fyn and, as if sensing her gaze, his eyes shot to her before he turned his attention back to the demigod.

‘To read one’s lines of Ever is a symbol of great respect within the Seacht, and a gift we offer to those who honour and serve.

In reading your lines today, I hope to prove your personalities, temperaments and true intentions align with the goals of the Seacht.

Advisor Gudren, please hand them the conduits.

’

Mystic Agnes’ words rang in Elva’s ears, each toll sending a wave of terror through her body.

This was the worst-case scenario, and her seed of Ever writhed in panic as if trying to escape the reading, only to freeze a moment later when Advisor Gudren stepped forwards.

She cringed away, hating how her nerves flared whenever he approached.

She’d never had this sort of reaction to anyone before.

When he was a foot away he lifted his hands and extended two small objects: the gemstones she and Fyn had selected during the first ceremony.

He handed Fyn the blue one, then turned to her.

Sweat broke out along her upper lip and she ordered herself to grab the stone, but her muscles wouldn’t listen.

She was frozen on the spot, primal fear overriding her conscious orders to take the damn stone and be done with it.

Could she run?

The room was full of exits, but whether she would make it in a room full of demigods was another question.

‘ Is something the matter, Princess? ’ Advisor Gudren’s voice was like oil in her mind, its cadence slipping between the folds of her personality, sending repulsion shuddering down her spine.

His brow twitched, a cruel smile lighting his face and he leaned in, the fishy smell of his breath overwhelming.

‘ Catch .’ He threw the stone in front of her.

Instinct kicked in, and her training finally overrode her fear; hand darting out to pluck the falling stone before it hit the floor.

She clenched her fist around the buttery-yellow gem, knuckles going white as Advisor Gudren stepped back to King Dermont, a chuckle grazing her mind.

‘Turn to one another,’ Mystic Agnes said, pulling Elva’s attention back.

‘The stones are a conduit of power; they will help channel and amplify the magic. Place the stone in your right palm and place your left on the other’s gemstone.

’

Elva looked at Fyn, her eyes wide as she tried to communicate to him.

She wanted to scream, How am I meant to have my lines read when I’m Ever Blessed?

But no words came out.

Fyn turned to her and placed his palm on hers.

She didn’t know if it was her sweat or his, but their skin was clammy to touch.

She was nauseous, and her mind was a whirlwind of chaotic, half-assed plans to try and escape.

Run, you idiot!

Neve shouted at her, but she ignored the ghostly warning.

My people need this , she chanted over and over, trying to drown out her subconscious.

Do not yield when the battle hasn’t even begun.

Fight.

‘Close your eyes.’

She caught one final glimpse of Fyn before her sight was swallowed by black.

It did nothing to help ease her panic.

‘Ever is vast and timeless and takes different forms depending on the caller. Illitas’ gift lies in reading the lines of history, and as an acolyte of Illitas, it is my honour to pull apart these threads and weave them into the tapestry of your life.

The mystics at the library are the chosen few who walk in the shadow of our masters, but even we cannot see the future or the past in perfect clarity, which is why this reading shall only uncover the movement of your lines – the compatibility, rather than the specifics.

That is the blessing of the gods, and the gods alone.

Let us begin.

’

Elva prayed to Rivalin that Mystic Agnes’ words were true – if the demigod couldn’t read the specifics in her lines, then she wouldn’t be uncovered, would she?

Mystic Agnes drifted around them, and she could feel the heat of her gaze sweep over her flesh.

A second later her Ever flared, a warning bell that hit just before strands of the demigod’s magic wrapped around her, searching.

Her fingers clenched around the gem, nails scraping Fyn’s palm.

Where her own magic was a mere alarm bell, Mystic Agnes’ was searching, as if it was trying to find a crack to enter.

Panic swelled, and her own tiny seed of magic retreated, folding in on itself until it was invisible.

Sweat trickled down her neck, but she kept still and hoped Fyn wouldn’t betray how sweaty her palms were.

The gods and their offspring couldn’t tell if someone was Ever Blessed – it was the only reason the witches and Ever Blessed had lasted as long as they had.

So why can I tell when someone is wielding Ever?

Standing in the Library of Ever, it was impossible to run from the question.

How did she know when someone else was using Ever?

And was she about to die because of it?

The magic surged around her and Elva’s vision flashed with silver just as the tug pulled, a hook in her chest which hurt more than the corset.

Fyn’s hand twitched against hers.

He fucking felt that—

She locked her limbs in place, forcing her breath to deepen as if she were in battle.

The pain increased, until the crescendo broke and a soft wave of relief washed over her.

She froze, pressing her hands hard against Fyn’s.

Was she imagining the thin layer of protection that caressed her skin?

Seconds became minutes became hours – she lost track of time, aware only of the tactile sensation pulling at her body: the tug, the relief, Fyn.

The priests’ chanting continued.

She could hear Fyn’s rasping breath over their melodic prayers.

He was a tether against the magic Mystic Agnes was wielding, his palm pressing back against her own.

The swarm of magic intensified again and the priests’ chanting grew louder, the crackle of silver bright against her closed eyelids.

Heat spread across her chest, and the sensation of being encased increased, as if the corset was being tightened around her entire body.

At once, the chanting of the priests ended, and the pain ceased.

She sagged at the emptiness, Fyn’s grip the only thing keeping her upright.

Had they failed?

Had something gone wrong?

She cracked one eyelid open, glancing under her lashes as she tried to locate Mystic Agnes without being obvious.

The demigod stood, a halo of white hair escaping from her bun, robes wrinkled as she consulted with Advisor Gudren.

His eyes were black pits and Elva could have sworn a deep growl reverberated in her mind when Mystic Agnes murmured something in his ear.

King Dermont stood to the side, a vexed expression plastered on his face as he stared at Advisor Gudren.

‘Congratulations. Your nuptials have been blessed by the gods of Foresight and Hindsight. May your union ride the waves of Ever until you meet your Ending. Blessed by the glory of the Seacht, in the shadow of Caius we follow.’ At once the priests stepped away from the fountain, and the tension in the air banked.

She blinked and looked at Fyn.

The second ceremony was over.