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Chapter nineteen

Nerys

T he new creature was unlike anything concocted in a nightmare. It was worse.

The creature was like a man, in that it had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head with all the basic features. He also wore a loincloth made from some sort of leather, with tufts of fur and pieces of fatty flesh still dangling off the edges. There, the resemblance to mankind ended.

The creature was taller than her by a head, and its abnormally long arms hung at its sides, almost to its knees.

The creature’s skin was unnaturally white and translucent, with hints of gray or yellow depending on the light, and its hands had a predator’s long mangled claws.

The creature would have been horrific on its own.

The brutalization it had endured made it another kind of horror.

The creature’s skin was rent, like claws 99 had been taken to it, for its flesh bore large gashes and hung limp in parts held on by the barest tendrils of flesh. Blood dripped on the ground from the massive wounds, pooling in crimson puddles on the wooden floors.

Nerys took in its face and her mouth froze in a silent scream.

The creature had two horns, one on each side of its head, thick and curved like a bull’s.

100 Its ghoulish face was graced by a mouth with unnaturally thin lips and full of sharp teeth.

And then there were the eyes—brilliant yellow and orange—with the smallest pinpoint of a pupil.

The creature backed up and smiled—a horrific pantomime—watching her reaction.

Meanwhile, the man on the chair changed into a horrifying nightmare, like someone mixed a bull, a lion, and a man, and kept only the most disturbing parts of each.

A bull’s horns and hooves, a lion’s tail, and a man’s head and torso, covered in cracked and charred flesh.

Nerys collapsed. This was how she was going to die. Not from the R?ll, not from the court, but from this . She bit on her hand and waited for the end.

Then the library door banged open, hitting Nerys on the head, and sending the rest of her to the ground. Groaning, she pushed herself upright.

Gone. The nightmares were gone.

The floor was clean and dry. The chair was empty.

Gone.

“Nerys,” a man said to her. A familiar voice. A worried one.

“Nerys,” Idris repeated over and over, checking her for injury.

“Idris,” she coughed out. “Are you real?” When he didn’t disappear, when he didn’t change into a monster, she clung to him and sobbed.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around the room. “Did you see something?”

See? Oh, yes. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, emitting only screeches, but eventually she choked out the story in the bluntest terms. The entire time, Idris’s eyes kept moving, searching for something that wasn’t there.

Though it was all too likely that the creatures still watched—hidden now that she wasn’t using the sight.

101 The same, pointed chill still crawled on her back from being followed by unseen eyes.

Just as she finished her halted tale, a strange lady swept into the room.

A brunette, the lady had the even complexion of someone who spent their life indoors, and the placid expression of someone who was glad of that fact.

The woman wore a delicately embroidered night robe and silk slippers.

This had to be the lady of the house—and her guardian at court.

Surprisingly, the lady was not much older than her, if she was at all.

Fina dashed into the room shortly behind the lady and skidded to a stop as she took in the scene—and the fact that no one was fighting.

Instead, she crept behind Idris, leaned against the wall, and crossed her arms, waiting for an explanation.

Based on Fina’s puffy eyes and scowl, she was going to want a good one.

“What happened?” the lady asked with a haughty accent. The lady looked down at Nerys, her expression unreadable. “I take it this is my new ward.”

“She is,” Idris said. “Nerys, this is Qiana, the Sun Holder who is your guardian. And our dear friend.”

Idris helped Nerys stand, his hands encasing her own.

She glanced at the chair. It was still empty, though the same prickles of someone leering crept over her skin.

Qiana followed the direction of Nerys’s eyes, and suddenly her own shifted to white crystal.

A moment later, they returned to their normal brown.

Qiana sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Qiana said, “I’ve been a terrible host. I should have been clearer with my orders. If I had known you had the sight, I would’ve sent Sitri away. Where he couldn’t cause any trouble.”

“I don’t have the sight,” Nerys said, her protest feeble even to her ears. She was too old to receive the sight—yet, what other explanation was there?

Qiana smirked. “I think we both know that’s not true.” With that, Qiana turned and strode out of the room, motioning the three of them to follow her. “Come. I think we’ll all feel better if we talk in my sitting room.”

“This can wait until morning,” Idris said, remaining close to Nerys. Close enough that her nightgown brushed against his legs. His strong chest pressed against her arm, his presence stirring something deeper within her.

“No, it can’t,” Qiana said. “I have a feeling that if we try to wait, we’re going to be woken again in an hour.” She gave Nerys a kind smile. “New Sight Bearers are so curious—best to get this over with.”

Qiana guided the three of them down the halls and into her sitting room, which was in a part of the lodge Nerys hadn’t been to before.

It was just as fine as the rest of the house—finer, even—but here were symbols indicating who the owner was, if Nerys knew what to look for.

A painted coat of arms hung over the empty fireplace and more portraits of long-dead relatives lined the walls.

Or not so dead—a portrait of Qiana hung near the door, in which she wore a solemn expression, not unlike what Nerys faced now.

And there were a few paintings of nude women posing with fruit, who seemed oddly out of place with the rest of the artwork.

Qiana lit two lamps, drenching the room in a muted light, before she sat on a chair and motioned the rest of them to take a seat on the lush black velvet furniture.

Nerys chose a padded stool and kept her back straight as she was taught, while Idris and Fina selected the couch. What had happened? How had she ended up with the sight now ?

“Tell me everything,” Qiana said to Nerys. “I need to know what happened—and don’t leave out any details.”

Voice trembling, Nerys recounted what she had seen. She didn’t take her eyes away from her clutched hands—she didn’t want to face any of Qiana’s skepticism or Idris’s concerned glances. Or Fina’s ire.

When Nerys finished, she raised her eyes. What was her new guardian going to say? This wasn’t part of their arrangement.

“The first thing I can do for you is tell you that you do indeed have the sight,” Qiana said. “You didn’t imagine anything. Be grateful—many Sight Bearers think they’re losing their minds at first.” 102

“That’s impossible,” Nerys said, ignoring Fina’s mild scowl. “I’m too old.”

“Older than normal,” Qiana agreed, “but not too old. It happens.”

“No one in my family had the sight. Or in my village.”

“Sometimes the gift appears in new families,” Qiana said.

“We’re all born with it—at least to some degree.

It’s our inheritance from the founders. It’s the manifestation that’s the issue—most are never able to go beyond seeing an occasional shadow.

” Her expression softened. “I know it’s a lot to accept, but it will do you no good to pretend otherwise. Trust me.” 103

“The Consumed Gods’ gifts,” Nerys whispered, still stunned. “Me.”

Qiana smiled indulgently while Fina and Idris chuckled. Nerys burned. “I forget that’s what the Dahlk think of this as—that we have magic because our gods loved us so much, they sacrificed themselves, blessing us beyond the remainder of mankind.”

“I don’t…” Nerys shook her head. “I don’t understand. I’m not devout, but what is our magic, if not a gift?”

“A curse,” Idris said. “Like the Living Gods—or any gods—would do anything good for us.”

Nerys’s eyes darted back and forth amongst the other three—they had magic. Powerful magic. How was this a curse? And then a memory flickered. A man ejected from Raven’s Crest tavern for speaking blasphemy.

“I heard that this is why we fight—”

Qiana lifted her hand, cutting Nerys off. “Yes. The cost of our magic is eternal war.”

“But the Dahlk—they say it’s a gift. ”

“The Dahlk are religious zealots,” Fina said. “One plague all our kingdoms must endure.”

“Alright,” Nerys said. “Let’s say it’s not a gift. How is it not just a coincidence? Kingdoms fight.” Shifting, Nerys frowned. “And if you’re right, that it’s a curse, why do the kingdoms allow these ‘zealots’ to flourish?”

“And how long do you think,” Idris said slowly, “that rulers would stay on the throne if it was commonly accepted that we were cursed, and not blessed?”

“The rulers need the Doctrine of the Living Gods to keep the people content,” Qiana said. “Even if the better educated are more…skeptical. As for why it’s not a coincidence, you’ll understand. Now that you have the sight.”

“I see.” So the R?ll wasn’t divinely chosen? In some ways it made sense—why he was so willing to murder his own citizens, for one. “But the Living Gods, they still watch over us? Right?”

“They watch alright,” Idris said. “But not over us. At least, not to do us any favors.”

Nerys frowned.

“Idris—she has enough to think about now. We don’t need to bury her mind under layers of theology.” Qiana turned to Nerys. “For your purposes, it’s best to forget the Living Gods. Nothing is looking after us. We are alone.”