Page 24 of House of the Beast

But maybe it was true, what they said: like father, like daughter. I’d done my best to learn from him, after all. It didn’t bother me that I was as selfish and spiteful as he described. I’d known this for years. But he was the one who had made me an Avera, and he would face the consequences of it.

“You cannot stop me,” I said, and the truth of it made his nostrils flare in outrage.

The Cardinal had given his assent, and unless I personally requested my withdrawal, I was now expected in the capital along with the other Pilgrims of Avera.

I didn’t need my father’s permission. And as much as he surely wished he could lock me away and prevent me from going at all, for a chosen Pilgrim not to arrive would be a scandal of its own caliber, an even greater shame on our House.

There was no choice left for him. He would have to let me proceed.

My father seemed to reach the same conclusion as he glowered down at me.

“You will learn your lesson soon enough,” he said. “You’ve made this mess by yourself, and thus you will deal with it the same way. None of the household staff are to support you. You will be all alone in the capital. Don’t come crawling to me with your tail between your legs.”

And then he left. I wasn’t going to stop him. I had a journey to prepare for.

***

TRUE TO HIS WORD, MY FATHER WITHDREW ALL THE STAFF USUALLY assigned to my guesthouse. No one came to provide meals or to tidy my rooms, and my preparations became my own responsibility.

This did not devastate me as much as he probably hoped.

After all, Aster and I had spent years discussing all the stages of my plan, including my father’s possible forms of retaliation.

Leaving me to my own devices was the mildest punishment he could administer.

I’d long ago learned how to fend for myself.

My kitchens were stocked with enough ingredients for me to ration out over a few days, and I knew how to perform the basic tasks usually left to the attendants.

My main concern was that he might exclude me from the family’s travel arrangements, in which case I’d need to get to the capital on my own.

So, on the morning the Pilgrims of House Avera would be boarding a train to Sorrowsend, I awoke before the sun and took my suitcase in hand.

I wrapped my sword in a sheet and strapped it to my back.

No one stopped me as I walked out the main gates, dawn only beginning to creep over the horizon.

The guards on shift eyed me in bewilderment but let me pass.

Aster waved to them cheerfully as we left.

The station was five miles down the mountain and some way into town. My family would arrive by carriage, but my only option was to go on foot. By the time we made it there, I had worked up a sweat; being dressed head to toe in Avera black did me no favors in the morning sun.

Despite the early hour, townsfolk were busy setting up along every street.

Vendors touted refreshments for those already lined up ready to receive the chosen Pilgrims, as well as commemorative trinkets for this blessed day.

Buildings were draped in House Avera banners, and young ladies waited in the shade with baskets full of flowers to be thrown into the air.

There was what looked like a marching band preparing in the town square.

No one paid me any attention until I had ascended the steps to the station, at which point I was accosted by the stationmaster.

“Sorry, miss,” he said. “Station’s closed for today. We aren’t running any trains except the one to Sorrowsend, for the Pilgrims of House Avera.” He puffed up a bit with pride at this last part.

“That would be my train,” I told him evenly.

“Are you an attendant of the Beast?” He looked a little panicked. “I thought you weren’t due until noon—we haven’t completed preparations yet!”

I set my suitcase down and hitched up the left sleeve of my coat to show my metal arm. “I’m not an attendant. May I board the train?”

The stationmaster’s eyes went wide. His face went red. “You’re Lord Zander’s—!” he began, and interrupted himself with a noise that suggested he’d attempted to physically swallow his tongue.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s me.”

The stationmaster glanced around, like he was searching for someone to take this situation off his hands. When he found no aid, he turned back to me in defeat and cleared his throat. “This way, please, young Lady Avera.”

The train that would take us to the capital was a sleek black model, one of the newest lines designed for luxury, the stationmaster haltingly informed me.

The first-class carriages were spacious and elegantly furnished, complete with a dining bar, a lounge, and private rooms for the lords and ladies.

One whole section of those rooms had been designated for my father’s retinue, and another for Kaim’s.

None, of course, for me.

“Would the young lady like to stay in Lord Zander’s compartment?” the stationmaster asked.

The young lady couldn’t think of anything she would like less. “No, thank you. Can I have a carriage somewhere else? Any private one will do.”

The stationmaster hemmed and hawed and looked increasingly confused, but eventually led me to a carriage that housed less luxurious individual compartments, which he assured me would not be occupied by anyone else on this trip.

I thanked him, then collapsed into one of the benches and pulled the door shut behind me. Aster was already sitting on the bench opposite mine, legs crossed, lounging against the window.

“You look like you just went another round with the Tinkerer’s Thing,” he said.

“I would rather,” I replied. Social niceties were not my strong suit, yet I knew there were more ahead of me.

The train ride was to last about eight hours; it would be late evening by the time we arrived in Sorrowsend.

From there, I would still have to find lodgings and a meal.

House Avera owned several smaller estates in the capital, but my father had no doubt forbidden the staff from welcoming me in.

I had resolved to find a hotel instead. Rooms were likely in high demand given that citizens of Kugara were traveling from far and wide to witness this event.

I would have to use the weight of my name to bully my way in.

“If they turn you away at the door,” Aster supplied sweetly when I voiced these thoughts, “I can scare some of the patrons away and you can take their rooms instead.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I muttered, pulling out my journal.

It was an old exercise book I had received from my last tutor—a gift, in the hopes that I would not drive him away like I had done the others.

The leather cover had been worn smooth in places, but otherwise I had kept it in good condition over the years.

Everything I knew of the capital and of past Pilgrimages, from things my father taught me to information gleaned off House Avera’s private library, had been compiled in this book for my own reference.

I had little experience outside the estate and no connections in or knowledge of Sorrowsend. This journal was my only guide.

I had long ago memorized everything here, but I found comfort in looking over it again. There were pages on the city’s layout and lists of places I might find useful, which I perused now, muttering plans to myself while Aster hummed indulgently at every idea.

“Other than lodgings, I’ll have to find supplies,” I noted. “Enough for three days.”

That was the amount of time we would have to spend inside the umbral gate, before it opened again to let us out.

Pilgrims like my father or Kaim would have entire contingencies following them—soldiers to fight alongside them, and tempered horses to help carry food and water.

Human comforts and company to survive a nightmarish realm only partially terraformed for mortal eyes.

I would have only myself and what I could carry on my back.

Aster grinned, a little viciously. “Kill the Wanderer of Still Waters, and then you can simply order someone else to donate their supplies. They’ll have no choice but to listen to the newest victor of the Pilgrimage.”

Not for the first time, I wondered where that assurance came from. Did he do it to keep my spirits up, knowing that my confidence was prone to waver? Or did he truly believe in me so ardently that doubt had no place in his mind?

Fighting a smile at that thought, I snorted. “I’m not counting on that. Even if I find the Wanderer right away, it won’t mean anything if I’m not strong enough.”

A fallen star was a dangerous thing, and near impossible for a vessel to defeat in regular circumstances.

But the more time one spent on the umbral plane, the more receptive one became to their patron god’s power.

The scholars called this the process of collecting ichor—ichor being the term used to describe the lifeblood that flowed through the terrors in the umbral gate.

The more ichor a vessel came into contact with, the more it would open our minds to the nightmare realm.

Only then was an elder god’s vessel truly capable of miracles.

Of course, gorging oneself on ichor often took its toll. That was what had happened to my Uncle Maximus. Too much ichor, all too fast. He was the hero of the last Pilgrimage, but a part of his mind had remained with the Beast, never to be his again.

“You’ll be strong enough to kill it, Alma,” said Aster with fond exasperation.

“Haven’t I already told you this? This morning, your family gathered in the temple to pray for my favor before their journey.

But I am with you. I’m yours, and you’re mine, and beyond the umbral gate we can truly become one. ”