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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Fenlia

E lician leaves Kreuzfurt without saying goodbye.

Fen wakes to find a letter slipped under her door, covering several pages of fine stationery borrowed from Marina’s desk. She recognizes the letterhead. As she flicks through them, increasingly annoyed that a letter has replaced his parting words, she realizes he has perfected another trick. The stationery is unlined, and yet Elician’s rows are even in both height and angle. He may as well have written on a ruler, his script is so exact. But he had never received the harsh remedial lessons of their tutors when it came to perfecting his letterings; that had been an honour reserved for Fenlia alone.

Bastard.

‘Dearest Fen,’ she reads, sitting back on her bed and affecting her voice in an imperious tone – one which she imagines him using to dictate his latest round of chastisements. ‘I must return to the front and find myself unable to give you the goodbyes you deserve to hear in person. Forgive me for this. Forgive me also for—’ She falters, fingers clenching around the fragile paper. ‘Forgive me also for not being able to grant your wish to leave Kreuzfurt.’ Her shoulders slump and her anger wanes as she silently reads on.

I know you are unhappy here, and I know that your fate is one that others in your station also face. You are right to be discontented. And I understand well your desire to be someplace far beyond these city walls. I should have been more receptive, and I am sorry for diminishing your feelings. You deserved better from your brother. I will do better in the future.

While Father reigns, my ability to enact change is limited, but you know well my intentions once the transition has occurred. You, Adalei and Lio have a place in my court, and I will need you when the time comes. For the love I know you bear my father, for his kindness in calling you daughter, I have felt it imprudent to discuss what I shall require of you after his death. There may be many years before such a time comes to pass and I had not found it necessary to intervene or limit you to a path you may not wish to take.

But I see now that has been a mistake, and if you truly long for a place as my adviser on matters of great importance, then I would task you to do so now. I do not live in Kreuzfurt. I do not experience her in the way that you do. When I am king, I intend to change the structure of the city and its inhabitants, but you will be the one who can speak on her behalf. Advise me, Fenlia.

Make me a report, a proper report and not simply a letter of personal grievances. Adalei can provide you instruction on the form and structure should you require it, Zinnitzia and Marina too, should you feel comfortable enough asking for their assistance. Tell me all there is to know about Kreuzfurt: its land, its production capacity, its influence. Tell me of the Reapers and their work. What has been their impact? What truly is their purpose, and if this solution is not adequate, what should be the alternative? Advise me, Fenlia. Do so with care, and patience, and prove to me that you are capable of the due diligence I will require of you when I take the throne.

Zinnitzia and Marina have already set arrangements for you to take on supplementary course work at the House of the Unwanting, course work I understand you loathe and despise. While I cannot remove you from these courses, I would ask that you use them as a cover for further investigation. Take note of your surroundings while you have permission to traverse those halls. Few are given the opportunity to know what occurs within the House of the Unwanting, and your observations will be crucial to my final decisions.

In this, I do include the Reaper, Cat. I have sworn to return him to his people when the war is done, an act that potentially carries great risk for myself and my position. I ask you to understand his character, and his intentions, and to advise me on one matter of great importance: can I trust this man? You know well what we all stand to lose should I choose poorly.

Help me, dear sister. I will need you in order to ensure a future we can both be proud of. There are precious few people I would trust with this, and I trust you to always guide me well.

And know, as soon as I am able, I will see to it you leav e Kreuzfurt and will never again be confined behind its walls.

I love you, Fen. I trust you.

Please, trust me too.

~E

He had signed his initial in a great swoop, flicking the end of the letter nearly all the way across the page. She is almost glad that he left without speaking to her in person. If he had looked at her while he said such things, if he had sworn her to his cause, she is not certain she could have maintained the dignity and composure necessary for such a thing. His words embarrass her. He trusts her more than she trusts herself. And she is terrified of letting him down.

Elician had been flawless when he read the names of their people. She had been prepared to hate him for eternity only three days before, and yet he had spoken the names of their dead with care and consideration. It filled her with pride to know that, one day, he will be our king .

They had fought. She had said things that would have had Zinnitzia screaming for hours. But despite that, he still wants her to be on his council. He still trusts her enough to assign her this mission, even knowing that she already hates the place she’d be reporting upon.

She wipes her eyes. Sets the letter to the side. Thinks.

She knows some of the details Elician is asking for, but nothing with any true accuracy. She does not know the size and scale of the city in its entirety, nor the crops that are grown in the farmland or their yield, nor the exact figure of how many Givers or Reapers are stationed here. Her greatest source of knowledge comes mainly from her personal experiences: daily lessons in history, mathematics and natural sciences that are offset by long hours training with Zinnitzia.

She is the only child Giver or Reaper. Cat is the next youngest, and he is already past the age of majority in both their countries. She does not know much about the lives of their older counterparts, though she presumes they do not have schoolwork folded into their schedules. There must be more to their duties.

Someone manages the pigeons and the mail call. Someone informs their guards – who even are their guards? – to open the gates at the start of each morning. There is so much more to understand about the city of Kreuzfurt as a whole. And she needs to understand it. Because Elician needs to know about it. And it is her job. Her job. She smiles. Finally. She is no longer being judged just on her ability to heal.

Fen asks one of the Reapers near the entrance of the House of the Unwanting where to find Cat and is directed up seven flights of stairs. She climbs them, legs burning with discomfort, then finds a room marked with a silver star. The door is half open and she pushes it the rest of the way. Marina is there, sitting on the floor in front of Elician’s Alelunen assassin. The curtains behind them are closed, but the room is illuminated by a candle.

Marina twists to look at her and frowns. ‘Princess,’ she drawls. She does not stand to bow, merely inclines her head ever so slightly. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

‘Lessons,’ Fen says. ‘You . . . you wanted me to come for lessons.’

‘More than a week ago,’ Marina agrees. ‘Have you changed your mind about joining us?’

‘Yes.’

The Reaper matriarch squints at her, expression icy with disdain. Slowly, though, she inclines her head. ‘Sit.’ Fen shuffles closer. Marina and Cat sit cross-legged. Not touching, but close. She mimics their posture, glancing back at Marina, then looks to Cat. He is still grotesquely pale, save for the black scar on his cheek, but he is dressed exactly like any other Reaper in Soleb – all in black with a bell at his wrist and a veiled hood ready to draw up when needed. The bell jingles as Cat shifts his wrist in his lap, alerting to all the world: Danger! Danger! A Reaper is here!

‘I doubted you would ever come,’ Marina admits. ‘Did your brother command it of you?’

‘Yes,’ she replies shortly. Something in this room smells . . . awful. The same horrid scent she had noticed when she first entered the House of the Unwanting nearly two weeks before. ‘But I’m here now, aren’t I?’ She tries to surreptitiously identify the source of the smell, but notices something else instead.

Reapers are meant to cover their skin at all times, the only exception being their faces. (It is rarely necessary to use the hoods to block contact there.) But now, neither Marina nor Cat are wearing gloves. Their bare skin glows, unseemly in the reflected light from the candle. Her stomach clenches at the sight.

‘It’s been almost three years since you came here and you still don’t have much experience with Reapers, do you, Fen?’ Marina asks. Fen swallows hard at her mentor’s tone. At the implicit accusation. Marina isn’t wrong though. Fen has avoided interacting with the Reapers of Kreuzfurt to the best of her ability. Nothing good ever comes from associating with Death. But . . . Elician has trusted her to be able to get him information he can use, so she has to do this. ‘Tell me,’ Marina entreats, ‘what do you know?’

Fen fidgets, replying awkwardly, ‘If you touch a Reaper’s skin, you die.’ It is the best summary she can give.

Marina makes a speculative noise, a short, humming thing there and gone again. She reaches out, traversing the space between them, and touches Fen’s exposed wrist. Fen flinches despite knowing better. Reapers cannot kill Givers. Not like that. They are both chosen by the gods, and the gods’ chosen ones cannot use their powers upon one another. But she has only been a Giver for a little less than three years. For eleven years of her life, she had been taught to listen for the small silver bells at the Reapers’ wrists. To cross to the other side of the street. To avoid contact with Reapers at all cost. They are Death’s chosen, and Death should have no place in a kingdom devoted to Life. Even when Marina had been serving at court as her brother’s guard, training them how to swordfight in the enclosed gardens of Himmelsheim, Fen had physically kept her distance. Fen may be a Giver now. A Reaper’s touch may do nothing to her. But even the thought of it still terrifies her.

‘What do you feel?’ Marina asks, uncaring of Fen’s concern.

‘I don’t . . . I don’t know.’ Marina’s skin is cool and dry. That is not what repulses her. Beneath the touch is something more. Something that flutters at the back of Fen’s mind. ‘It’s like trying to press two opposing magnets together.’ She shivers, her stomach still clenching nervously. She tries to pull free, but Marina keeps her hand where it is.

‘You’re not dead,’ the matriarch points out needlessly.

Fen scowls. ‘I’m not normal though. If a normal person touches a Reaper’s skin, they die.’

Finally, Marina settles back. She tilts her head in consideration. ‘There are other words that are used to describe us, of course, one more ancient and preferred than the rest, but in this time period “touched” or “divine” seem to be most popular.’

Fen does not like either term. ‘Touched’ sounds a bit too on the nose, while ‘divine’ seems almost disrespectful. Their gods, Life and Death, rule over all. They are not divine, merely lackeys in a divine game that she does not want to play. ‘What’s the other word?’ she asks.

‘Exalted,’ Marina replies. She says another word too, likely the Lunae translation, but Cat does not react to either word despite her generosity. ‘Tell me, what do you think we teach here, Fenlia?’

The question catches her off guard. She shrugs to buy herself some time, but Marina is far more patient than Zinnitzia. She can remain silent as her quarry writhes in the trap she has set. Sweat beads at the back of Fen’s neck. ‘You teach how to kill,’ she says, already suspecting that is not correct.

‘I don’t need to teach any Reaper how to do that,’ Marina says, almost amused. ‘Cat could kill someone when he was a child, from the moment he woke up as a Reaper in Alelune. Reapers are not like Givers. For most Givers, crossing the boundary between life and death is a difficult and complicated matter.’ She smiles a little, as if Fen’s strange talent makes her useless abilities that much more palatable. ‘But for Reapers, the transition is far easier. Life yearns for Death in the end, and Reapers connect the two quite nicely.’

She still cannot understand. ‘What do you teach, then?’

‘I teach our Reapers how to manage that which is alive.’ Marina gestures to the candle still flickering between them. She lowers her hand over it, and Fen watches as her palm toasts above the flame. ‘Die,’ Marina says. Instantly they are plunged into darkness. The light vanishes at her word alone.

A noise rattles through the air. It is a voice, maybe. A voice that has been turned about and skinned so only its abstract form can be understood. It hitches, like a moaning rasp, three times in succession. Each repetition gets slightly higher in pitch. Marina strikes a match. Her face is illuminated in a subtle orange glow, and so is Cat’s. Cat’s lips are spread in what could almost be considered a smile, and Fen realizes: he had been laughing. That horrific noise had been a laugh.

Marina lights the wick of the candle and gestures for Cat to give it a try. His lips even quirk a little, like he had been hoping for an opportunity to show off. And now that he’s been given leave to do so—

He snaps his thumb and middle finger together and the light winks out between one flicker and the next. It is Marina’s turn to laugh now. ‘Very clever indeed,’ she admits, still chuckling. ‘You truly are full of surprises, aren’t you?’ Marina lights it again.

Fen reaches for it now, frowning as her fingers hover over the flickering candle. Heat licks them, and a subtle pain blossoms along her skin. Drawing back, she rubs her thumb over each tingling tip, soothing the ache, healing the nascent burn before it dares to get worse. ‘But fire is not . . . it’s not alive.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Marina asks. ‘Are the molecules not moving? Does the flame not need sustenance to thrive? Does it not require fuel to keep burning? Can it not move? Who is to say that fire is not a living thing?’

‘It cannot think,’ Fen refutes.

‘Neither does a plant. And yet, is a flower any less alive than you are?’

‘I can’t make a flower spring up from the ground either, so what does it matter if it’s technically alive or not?’

Marina does not seem terribly impressed by her proclamation.

‘Have you ever tried?’ she asks. ‘Making flowers grow?’

She has not. She does not know anyone who has. No one in the temple has mentioned plants. As far as she has seen or heard, Givers work exclusively with animals and humans. There is no in-between or room for alteration. Even Reapers do not seem to accidentally kill plant life they interact with. When they do kill them, it seems to take attention and effort rather than a simple brush of the skin – unlike with people. Plants are just different .

Marina clears her throat. ‘Life is life. Death is death. And yet there are some things that are alive that need a little death to continue surviving. And some lives are surprisingly stubborn when it comes to accepting a god’s influence on their existence.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Think of a forest with an unbalanced ecosystem,’ Marina replies. ‘The death of one tree can ensure the safety of the whole forest – if it’s inappropriately taking too many nutrients from the surrounding flora. Reapers can kill that tree to ensure the forest thrives. A thriving forest leads to an increase of food supply which leads to the health and well-being of all lives within and beyond the forest’s boundaries. Life comes from death, as it were.’ That seems wildly simplistic, and yet Cat is staring at Marina intently, brows furrowed and lips pressed tight. ‘Though trees tend to be a bit reluctant to be a part of any kind of change. They seem to like being trees.’

‘The trees like being trees?’

Marina nods. ‘Perhaps a good starting point for you, Fen, is to think more about what actually is alive and dead. And expand your horizons beyond just people and animals.’ She stands, stretching her back and cracking her neck. ‘I have an idea. Wait here. I’ll be right back.’ She crosses the dark carpeted floor, disappearing behind the door without another word.

Fen shuffles a little so she is not pressed so close to Cat. He does not seem to mind or notice. He is too busy staring at the flame. Biting her lip, Fen does the same. Fire is not alive. She knows that. It cannot be alive. And yet, if it is not alive, then how could Marina and Cat affect it? More importantly: ‘How did you do that without touching it?’ Fen asks. ‘I thought you had to touch it.’

Cat stays silent. He does not try to make eye contact, nor does he seem to care about her at all. Frustration burns in Fen’s chest. Why would anyone want to be your friend when you act like this? she thinks savagely. Then, slower, Why does Elician?

If the candle is all Cat cares about, then the candle is all she will focus on too. She adjusts her weight, then settles her fingers to the side of the flickering wick. Not so close this time: only close enough to feel the heat. Its incorporeal presence flutters against her palm. She closes her eyes. Fire moves with the air around it. One as small as this shivers in tandem as she breathes. She exhales and the heat trembles against her skin, then settles.

The small flame rotates around the wick ever so subtly, nibbling at the wax-coated string with one bite at a time. Why? To eat, yes. To sustain itself. It needs to sustain itself somehow to exist. But what is fire? Why does it burn? Why does it need air to survive? Why the heat?

Abruptly, the heat vanishes. She blinks, squinting in the gloom. Without the light from the candle, it is hard to see at first, but there is enough radiant light from under the curtained windows for her to make out Cat eventually. He has moved his hand. Moved it so it is directly parallel to Fen’s.

He does not speak. Instead, he stares down at the candle that is quickly growing cool before them. There is nothing to touch. Nothing except the wick. But is it the wick that she should be trying to bring to life? Or something else? Marina had mentioned molecules. But which molecules need to speed up? Which ones need to go faster in order to burst with combustion?

She stares at the wick. She thinks burn as hard as she can, willing all her energy to her palm as it cups the wick, as if that will make even the slightest bit of difference. It does not change a thing. The wick stays cold. Light, she tries this time. Nothing happens. Start, she commands. It stays exactly the same. Live, she finally settles on.

There.

At the tip, the black – almost invisible – thread begins to glow. Slowly at first, and the light is so small. The tiniest of sparks. Live, she encourages. Live. The spark grows, turning brighter, rounder, bigger, until finally it leaps from hesitant light to active flame. Cat nods slowly. Then snaps his fingers. The light flickers out.

‘Hey!’ She swats his hand away and cups the wick again. Thinks, again, Live. The sparkle of orange comes faster this time. It crests into a flame brighter and more vibrant than before. She grins at him, challenging. He blinks, and the fire dies. Spreading her hands a bit wider now, she throws her energy at the fire. Live, she shouts in the back of her mind. Live!

Red spears through the candle from tip to tip. It illuminates the inside of the wax, melting the whole body in moments as the fire bursts up like one of the festive rockets that race across the sky every Solar Festival. Flames shoot out at all sides, catching the carpet and spreading faster, out of control.

Fen yelps, legs untangling badly as she attempts to back away from the glowing arc. The hem of her skirt ignites. She slaps at it hysterically, hardly cognizant of Cat or the keening noise that echoes in the back of her head. Stumbling to her feet, she watches in horror as the fire starts reaching for the curtains, the bedding. Cat thrusts his hand towards the flame’s centre mass, reaching for the pitiful remains of the candlestick now entirely engulfed. She screams, ‘That’s not going to—’

The candle’s fire snaps out of existence. Cat holds his other hand to the side, and with a great slashing slice of his arm, the whole room descends instantly into darkness as every remaining bit of flame dies. All fires have been suppressed, killed, by Cat’s quick hands.

‘Good,’ Marina says when she re-enters the room. ‘Thank you for not burning down the tower.’ Fen’s not sure which one of them is getting thanked for that. She is the one who started the fire, but Cat is the one who ended it. She almost asks, but then she sees another woman standing just behind Marina. Short and plump, with peachy skin and red cheeks, this woman has short grey curly hair. Her clothes are bland shades of olive green and yellow that hang over her round body like a smock. Fen has seen her before, bustling about the grounds. She had thought she was a guest.

‘Marvellous job, really!’ the stranger says with astonishing familiarity. ‘I haven’t seen anyone manage that trick nearly so quickly.’ Marina draws back the curtains to inspect the damage to the room.

‘Who are you?’ Fen asks.

‘Elena Morsen, at your service, Your Highness.’ She bows low and deep.

Marina kneels by Cat, setting a book to her side that Fen hadn’t noticed she had brought with her, and takes his hands in hers. His palms are burned but healing fast, poppy-red blisters fading before their eyes, leaving the skin unblemished and whole.

‘Fascinating,’ Elena breathes out.

‘Did you see what happened?’ Fen asks.

‘We watched the last few moments, yes,’ Marina says, giving Cat’s hands a gentle squeeze before pulling away. She hands him the book.

‘And you didn’t stop it?’

‘I didn’t need to, did I?’

‘Would you have?’

The old matriarch sighs. ‘If it got much larger, yes. Any other questions?’

Yes. More than a few. Fen’s fingers twitch at the phantom memory of the precise moment when flames came alive by her will alone. Heat and possibility sparking into existence just at a thought. ‘Why did it get so big? The first time – the first time I did it, I only lit the wick. But that . . . Why did it explode like that?’

‘I’d say it’s because you wanted it more. What do you think?’

‘Spite has never healed any of my patients in the House of the Wanting,’ Fen mumbles.

‘Perhaps a different emotion inspires a different result,’ Marina replies vaguely. ‘And a different level of affinity. It’s not unlike learning archery or swordplay in a way. Some talents simply come easier than others.’ Then, clearing her throat, she gestures to the woman she has brought with her. ‘Elena is a physician from Crowen who volunteers at Kreuzfurt during the summer, delivering seminars at the House of the Unwanting to those interested in practising the craft.’

‘A physician? Why would the House of the Unwanting need a physician?’ If someone were ill, they could just go to the House of the Wanting instead.

‘Oh, I’m going to enjoy working with you, I think,’ Elena announces, clapping her hands together. ‘Do you suppose you could practise that trick a bit first though? Get better at controlling those flames? I have something I want to show you, but it will be so much more fun if you can get that trick down properly. Does that work for you, Marina?’

‘As you like. Tomorrow, then. Fen, if you still intend to continue these lessons, you and Cat will meet here after eighth bell, and you’ll go together to locate each of the stinging bark vines that have started growing around Kreuzfurt. You will find them, Cat will kill them, Fen will burn the remains. When you’ve mastered that, Elena will take over your training. You’ll do what she says, when she says it.’

‘Both of us?’

‘Problem?’

Not on the surface. It would give her time to watch Cat, as her brother wishes. But Fen still has a question for Marina. What is the point of giving her these specific lessons? ‘I thought Zinnitzia sent me to this House to learn how to heal things.’ How to heal a scar capable of marring a Reaper’s face specifically, but she will gladly avoid touching Cat for a while yet if she can get away with it. Even just being near him today has taken most of her nerve.

‘Yes,’ Marina agrees, ‘but perhaps you need to learn something else, to help you achieve your purpose.’

Rage flares through Fen, as hot as the flames Cat has just put out. ‘Making a fire is not going to save a little girl from dying,’ Fen grinds out. Marina nods, like a puppet on strings. Going through the same tired motions as every other tutor Fen has ever had.

But then, before she can respond, Elena says, ‘It will if that little girl is cold.’ She picks up the melted remains of the candle Fen had destroyed. Holds it towards her once more. ‘Maybe all you need is a little perspective and willingness to try something different. Who knows what new skills you might acquire? After all, you didn’t know you could light a fire like this before today either.’

She’s right, Fen concedes. And if Elena is right about that, then it begs a different question altogether. If this is knowledge that the House of the Unwanting possesses, then what else do the Reapers know how to do? And more than that, What else can I do too?